Arms of the Ocean
by insightfuldamon
Summary: Elena Gilbert is stuck. She's been running her family's restaurant, The Lunch Box, in Newport Beach, California, since she was a teenager, and has done so while enduring immense personal loss. One day, while running, a mysterious stranger starts running with her, just as a ghost from her past reenters her life; both men forever changing her life. (Delena/Human AU)
1. Chapter 1: Looking Up From Underneath

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! I've been working on this TVD Human/AU for quite some time, and decided to publish part of what I have. In this fic, Elena lives in California, where her family has owned a restaurant for generations. Yes, I decided to write a fic where Elena could cook, because we don't technically know that she can't and I like thinking of her running a business that she grew up in, in her early 20s and feeling completely stuck. Please let me know what you think! Enjoy :)

Arms of the Ocean

Chapter One: Looking Up From Underneath

There's a moment when the world ceases to exist. When nothing matters. When black represents more than the absence of white. The future is a massive void. The past….a distant memory. So fragile that there's an innate fear of shattering it if it's touched. So, I pretended that I was someone else. I was _fine_ , because that's what they wanted to hear. No one really wants to have that conversation. _I_ don't want to have that conversation.

The radio blares some pop song that must be on repeat. I toss in my bed, flail to the other side, tossing the white duvet over my head, but the March sun shines into my room, further preventing of contact with the snooze button.

I throw off the covers and walk to an open box in the corner of my room. A note lay on top, "Wear these. You look ridiculous." _Oh Care!_ She'd been sending me clothes she got for free from her job. I think they'd been styling a shoot for a fitness magazine, because the box was full of Lululemon clothing. I still had the clothes from last week, from All Saints, tucked in the corner of my closet.

Being the assistant one of the most sought after stylists in Los Angeles had it's perks. Being the best friend of the assistant to one of the most sought after stylists, meant that I was continually subjected to lectures on _dressing like you want to live_ and _how you dress is how you choose to present yourself to the world_. I'll stick to my _Lunch Box_ tee-shirt, jeans and chucks, thank you very much.

Placing the note on my dresser, I dig into the box. A few sports bras, one in a peach color that was more of a crop top, meant to come a couple inches above my belly button. A few tank tops, leggings and shorts so short, that if I pulled them up a fraction of an inch too high, you could see the curve of my ass. I giggle. Caroline was obviously trying to send me a message. _Get the fuck out of bed before the world passes you by._ And also, _You dress like a sad, kicked puppy would dress._

Folding the clothes back into the box, I walk to my dresser and find an old Destiny's Child concert t-shirt and my black Nike leggings. I quickly get dressed, slip on my Asics, pull my hair in a tight bun, put on my worn Stanford baseball cap, and clip on my music, I head out the door. Music fueling my motivation, I start running at an even pace.

Running is the only thing that's get me sane. Everyday I woke up and went, not because I was trying to lose weight or I was planning on completing a marathon, but because it felt so good and normal. Something I've always done and has been a consistent my entire life. I loose myself in the music and the beautiful scenery of Newport Beach, California. It's just me, views of the ocean and my music. Caroline calls it my addiction, and I can't say that I completely disagree. I get really depressed if I have to miss a day, or when I feel the tension of an injury and have to rest my legs.

After a couple of miles into my route, I feel something next to me. Something similar to a charge of electricity, a warmth starts to spread through my body. Someone's running next to me. This sometimes happens. Another runner will either pass you or run beside you to help with pacing. In a mile, whoever was beside beside me would turn and we'd go our separate ways. Without being obvious, I cock my head to the side. The most gorgeous creature, with perfect form, keeping his eyes focused on the road, was next to me. He was wearing a Dodger's baseball cap, and had a strong jaw with a little stubble. My eyes scan his body, observing his clothing, a sleeveless long running shirt and shorts. He's lean, but you can see clear lines defining muscle definition in his arms. Just as I was trying to figure out what color his eyes were, I feel the air leave my lungs as I trip, and as I was about to land face first in the asphalt, I feel his strong hands grab me, pulling me to my feet.

For the briefest of moments, we're dangerously close. My face, inches from his chest, I look up. His eyes are the clearest blue I've ever seen, like he was born directly from the ocean and unlike any other eye's I'd gazed into, then my eyes drift to his lips. They look….delicious. The bow wet with sweat, tempting me to lick it off. Cocking my head to the side, I start to say something, but he lets go of my arm, turns, and starts running again.

 _Oh, this was humiliating_. I fiddle with the volume on my Shuffle, and continue my run. Thinking he'd go straight down the road, as I took my usual right, but he continues to follow beside me. When we reach the stop light at Magnolia, I was about to just run through it due to the lack of cars so early in the morning, but he holds out his arm, preventing me from moving until the light turns green.

I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what to say. Stop pacing me? No, I actually was kind of enjoying his company. Bonus being, my run was going faster than usual today. Plus, what if this was just a coincidence? He's probably a tourist in town and wants a local to show him a route. Fine. I'll let him follow me.

He continues to run beside me, until a half mile before I reach my cottage, when I feel his warm presence leave. The moment he leaves, I turn to see if I could tell where he was going, but he's gone. Disappointed, I decide to walk the rest of the way home.

XXXXXX

After taking a 5 minute shower, blindly putting on moisturizer, pulling my wet hair in a bun, throwing on one of my many blue and yellow vintage Lunch Box t-shirts and squeezing into a pair of jeans, I hop on my bike and headed out for the day. I don't own a car. I have my license and I'm sure there are people out there who think I'm a decent driver, but The Lunch Box is only a mile away from my house, located right off of the Pacific Coast Highway, and I have yet to find a real need for a car. Luckily, the farmer's market was on the way.

I arrive at The Lunch Box, locking my bike in the back, and carry my groceries to the back door. Pulling keys out of my messenger bag, I open up. Still relatively early, I turn on all the lights. The Lunch Box may have existed since the 1930's, but we kept it updated without getting rid of the integrity of the establishment. The restaurant is all white, with wood paneling, blue and white striped awnings are above the outside windows, and a large deck in the front where we served most of our customers that overlooked the ocean. The kitchen is tiny and hasn't been renovated in 10 years, but we kept the equipment in relatively good condition. The gas stove had been there since my grandmother ran the restaurant, and a lot of the cast iron pots and pans had been around since the 30's.

I rest the groceries on the counter, when I hear a knock at the back door. "Hey Pete," I say as I open the door for him. Pete's short and boisterous. He doesn't talk, he bellows, and he's been delivering fish to our restaurant since I was 8. He always smells of the sea, and he consistently delivers to our restaurant first so we get the best pick. He's carrying a couple of crates, and walks in heading to the counter.

"Elena! How've you been do'n? I've got some great options for today's menu."

"I'm good Pete! How are the kids? Did you give Ashley the copy of Little Women I lent you?"

"I did! She's been hauled up in her room crying over some character named Beth. Thanks for letting her borrow your copy."

"It's no problem! My mom gave it to me when I was about her age, so Ashley can keep it."

I could feel heat creeping up my cheeks at my words. _Shit! Why did I let my mouth run of like that?_ Pete immediately gets quiet and looks down at his boots, shuffling his feet. "Jeez Elena, I'm…."

Not even letting him finish I say, "So, what did you bring me?"

Pete glances back up, and looks as though he was trying to decide if he should comment on the huge elephant that entered the room. Thankfully, he ignores it, as was the habit of most people around me. "I've got some fresh bluefin for you and _salmon steaks_."

I giggle, "Yes to the bluefin, hell no to the salmon steaks."

Pete's trying to lighten the mood with a continuous argument we had. I hate salmon steaks, but he continually tried to pawn some off on me, telling me I could make something brilliant with them.

I took care of Pete's delivery, putting the fresh mahimahi, tuna and lobster in the walk in refrigerator, and started prepping for the day, chopping onions and celery, roasting chicken for the smoked chicken almond salad sandwiches, and I started the brioche bread and buttermilk buns, until Scotty and Ben arrived. Scotty and Ben took over for their Aunt, who used to work with my mom. I've known them for years, and was pleased a couple of years ago when Amy decided to move to the Bay Area to live with husband number three, that Scotty and Ben wanted to take over after they both graduated from college, and wanted to do something locally. The only culinary experience they had was hanging out in our kitchen while their Aunt and my mother cooked, but it was enough.

The morning went by fast, and before I knew it I was in the weeds after being open for a couple of hours. The restaurant was full of tourists and locals, and I spent much of the early lunch service managing Suz, who was emotionally unstable after being dumped by her boyfriend and Brody, who decided to come in hung over. "Suz, table 3 on the patio needs their bread basket and their order taken," I say to her in the kitchen while she cries by the dishwasher.

"But you don't understand. I was going to spend Christmas with his family. I thought he was going to propose!" She blubbers into a handkerchief.

It takes an immense amount of effort to not roll my eyes. "I am sorry about what your going through, I really am, but I need you pull yourself together and help. You can leave early, if you need to. I'll clean the front."

Nodding, she finally complies, and starts walking back out front. As she opened up the swinging door, I see a glimpse of a figure and hear a familiar voice that causes my heart to race and my hands to tremble. _Shit! How could he be here? He's supposed to be at Stanford._ I need to hide. I need to run home. I need to not be here right now. He can't see me like this, literally in the exact same position as the last time he saw me. _Shit. Fuck._ I hide behind the door, praying Suz would know to say I wasn't here.

"Is Elena here?" he says.

"She's in the kitchen, I'll get her," Suz squeaks.

Suz opens the door, and making eye contact with her I mouth, "I'm not here". She catches on, and turning around and blocking the door. "I'm sorry, but she's not here right now."

"I saw her bike out back, I know she's here. She never leaves this place in the middle of a lunch service."

I can hear him make his way to the kitchen, and before I could run out the back door, Tyler Lockwood walks through the door. He takes up most of the door way. Tyler casually folds his arms and leans against the frame, giving me a once over. He's like a statue that I would have seen at the Getty during one of our field trips, the muse of an Italian renaissance artist. He played sports year round, from football to running cross country. I hadn't seen him in over a year, but I knew he was at Stanford studying business.

"That shirt always suited you," he says by way of greeting. I wish the floor could swallow me whole. The hidden innuendo. Ugh.

Suz stands behind him mouthing, "I'm so sorry," and then immediately disappears. _Run and hide, you traitor!_

Throwing my shoulders back, I straighten up and plaster a smile to my face. _Might as well get this over with._ "Hey Tyler, how have you been?"

Walking into the kitchen, but still looking me up and down, he says, "Oh, I'm getting ready to graduate. I'll be interning at Dad's company in January. I was here interviewing."

This took me by surprise. Tyler's dad was Richard Lockwood, owner and CEO of Lockwood Enterprises. His family pretty much owned all of the real estate in Newport. "I thought your Dad would start you off as vice president of commercial real estate or something, not an intern."

Tyler laughs, tossing his head back. "I wish. You know my Dad. He wants me to start from the bottom up and get to know the company. He's making me go through the whole interview process and everything. I even have to take a drug test."

"Well, stay away from poppy seed muffins," I say, cringing as the words escape my lips.

"What?" he says, trying to stifle a laugh.

Oh my god. I need serious help. I should not be allowed to have human interactions. "You know, because if you have poppy seeds in your system, they've been known to produce a false positive on your test," I try to explain.

Tyler smirks, "You know some things never change. You're still a wealth of random information, and yet you never seem to say anything at all. Still writing your actual thoughts in that damn diary?"

I nod at nothing, ready for this experience to be over with. "So, how can I help you Tyler? We're in the middle of lunch service, and I'm needed out front."

"I just…." he pauses, thinking about something, "I wanted to see how you were doing, after everything."

What an ass. Too little, too late. I was done. "I'm fine. I'm really okay. Feel free to have Scotty or Ben make whatever you want to take _to-go._ "

Tyler nods, and makes out to say something, but decides against it, and says, "No need Elena. I'll leave."

The second he was out of my sight, I pull out my phone and send Caroline a text message.

Me: A pain in the ass ghost has emerged from our past

A few seconds later, Caroline responds.

Cary: WHAT HAPPENED?

Me: Tyler Lockwood

Caroline: I'll be right there.

I was cleaning up the front of the restaurant post lunch service, after totaling out the register and getting a bank deposit ready, while a very apologetic Suz left early. Caroline runs through the door, and seeing my expression, immediately gives me a too tight hug. I stiffen. "Do you want to talk about it?" she says into my hair.

Brody walks through the kitchen into the front of the house, wearing his white apron, dirty from the service, "Elena, I just finished up the dishes, and Scott and Ben left for the day. I can clean the front and lock up, if you want."

I smile at him, breaking away from Caroline's hug. "It's okay Brody, I'm almost done here. Thanks for the offer."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night Elena." He turns around to leave.

Caroline has her arm around my shoulder, directing me to a chair from a nearby table. "Sit. I'll be right back."

I sit in the wicker chair, picking remnants of food off of my apron. What am I even doing? I had so much I needed to do. I still had to go to the bank and make a list of things to do tomorrow. I can't drag Caroline down with me. Especially with her leaving for Paris in a few days.

Caroline comes back carrying two crystal tumblers and a bottle with lovely amber liquid, dancing as she walks. "Breaking out our secret stash," she says, sitting across from me and pouring me a glass.

I take a sip and the bourbon luxuriously burns my throat. I sigh with satisfaction. My weakness. Vintage Bombergers. Single barrel. I can still remember my mother pouring a glass after lunch service, sitting on the wicker couch we had in the front, watching me build with large legos on the floor with Jeremy while Jenna finished totaling out for the day.

We sit in silence while Caroline pours herself a glass and takes a sip. I lazily spin the glass, feeling the smooth ridges of the crystal. "Talk Elena Gilbert. You worry me when you get this quiet."

"My mother said the secret to good pie crust, was to put vodka in it when you bind the flour and butter. Something about the alcohol helps create a flaky crust. We used to sprinkle cinnamon and sugar on the scraps and bake them off," I pause taking another sip.

"She told me to leave," I pause, tracing the rim of the glass with my index finger. "Did I tell you that? She told me to leave Newport and carve out a life for myself. See the world. I used to pour over old National Geographic magazines she kept around. Looking at pictures of Azec ruins. Castles in Germany and France. Writing stories and pasting pictures of the places I'd travel in my journal. I don't know what she'd think of me now."

I continue to look at my glass, refusing to meet Caroline's eyes. "You don't think she'd be proud of you? You took care of Jenna, driving her to doctor appointments, sitting with her when she went through chemo. You're taking care of her family's business and actually doing a good job."

I nod my head, sadness and regret filling me to the breaking point. My eyes stung. I was being so selfish; if only Caroline knew what I was thinking and what I had wanted to say for so long. "It's not that."

Caroline frowns, pouring herself another glass. "I'm stuck. Tyler comes in and it all rushes back. The life I wanted to have. The one that's no longer possible. I'm happy to be here and I love this place, but…."

"…..you feel like you're not living," Caroline mutters, finishing my sentence. "I brought something for you." She reaches into the vintage Louis Vuitton messenger bag she brought, pulling out a file folder. Opening it up, she continues, "I know you thought you threw them away, but I thought one day you'd need to see them."

She fans out 5 pieces of paper, and pointing at each one, she says, "Harvard acceptance. Columbia wanted you. Duke gave you a partial scholarship. Stanford, full ride plus a spot on their cross country team, and U of O, full ride plus a spot on their track and field team. _You_ , Elena Gilbert, can do anything you want."

I roll my eyes, tears freely flowing down my face. "I can't believe you kept those," I pause. "Actually, I _can_ believe you kept those."

"And I will continue to keep them and show them to you when you are down on yourself, and send you free clothes I get that won't fit me."

I shake my head, and do what I always do. Compartmentalize until I am ready to deal. "I'm really proud of you, you know?" I say. "You worked your ass off since high school. Ruling your internship at Elle and getting the job assisting the one and only Pamela Haaz."

Caroline scowls in disgust. "Oh, I'm not done yet. I'm going to be _The_ Stylist to the stars, even if I have to kill _The_ Pamela Haaz."

I smirk, feeling the effects of the bourbon. I get up and attempt walking across the restaurant to get my keys and turn out the lights. "Looks like I'm walking the mile home. I don't trust you to drive me."

"I'm hurt Elena! My driving skills are top notch," Caroline says, fumbling to get the acceptance letters back in her bag.

"I'm going to miss you, Care."

She lazily turns to me. Caroline prefers white wine to hard liquor, and it was the sign of a true friend that knew what I needed when I really needed it. "For the love of God, where something different tomorrow. You own this place, you don't have to wear the uniform. You'll feel better. Trust me."

I roll my eyes, reminded of the time freshman year when Caroline was trying to get me to join the cheerleading squad, and told me boys want a cheerleader not a cross country runner. As if I gave a fuck.

XXXXXX

I thought that there was no way the mysterious stranger would be back, but he'd been running along side me for the past week. I have no clue why. I can't be that good of a runner to actually think he was doing it to help his running. I decide to try something a little different. He still hasn't talked to me, and continually leaves when I start my cool down. I turn around and he's already gone, like a thief in the night. Completely bizarre and annoying.

I get up and start digging through the Lululemon box, I pull out a lilac A-line tank top, that had a triangle opening in the back, exposing the briefest bit of my sports bra and the small of my back. I decide to wear it with matching ombre print shorts. I take my time pulling back my hair into a bouncy pony tail, and decide to forgo the cap. I was never going to tell Caroline that I decided to take her up on her advice and dress like I cared.

I was enjoying my run, when I felt the familiar warm presence from the day before. Still not speaking, he ran on my left side, buffering me from traffic. I refused to look his direction, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But I could feel his eyes bore on me, and from my peripheral I could tell he was looking at me. I continued to act unaffected, picking up my pace. I'd run every day, sometimes twice a day, for most of my life and I wasn't going to go easy on him today.

I continued to pick up my pace, until I was at a relaxed sprint. He easily kept up with me, sticking to my left side, and holding out his right arm at every traffic light. Our legs moved in unison, feet pounding the pavement at the same time, which was incredible considering he was so precise and powerful in his stride. There was a level of adrenaline that surged through me, and I was about to go flat out for the last couple of miles, when we hit the final stop light before the last leg of my running route. Knowing at this time in the morning no cars would be coming, I ducked under his arm and bolted across the street.

I could feel him chasing after me, but kept going, running as fast as I could, until I could feel his hand grab my arm and with obvious strength, he twists me around, pushing my whole body against a nearby tree. His eyes darken as he looks down at me, his lips curling in amusement. I was out of breath, unable to find words to say, I could feel heat rise in my cheeks. He casually pulls the ear buds out of my ears. I shiver at his touch, immediately wanting more, not caring that this man was a complete stranger.

"Don't ever run away from me," he says, his voice smooth and controlled.

 _Oh god, this was both hot and irritating._ I try breaking free from his iron clad grip, but he just holds me there, against the tree. Somehow, I'm able to form words into something that resembled a stuttering sentence. "Don't tell me what to do."

He leans in closer, resting one arm against the tree, the other brushing a strand of hair from my face, letting his hand graze my neck, he finds his way to my ponytail and twisting it in his hand, he tugs it, pulling me up so I'm looking at him. _God he smells good, like sweat and clean linen._ "I think you need to be told what to do more often," he says in almost a whisper, dangerously close, the brim of his cap brushing my forehead.

Red hot bubbling anger surges through me. _Who the hell did this guy think he was? Obviously he thinks he's God's gift to women. Well, maybe technically he is._ Using the only tool I could think of, I lift my knee and with all my strength, slam my foot onto one of his feet. I get the desired result, he steps back, cursing. While he's distracted, I bolt away from him. Running flat out, I turn around a couple of times to see if he was following me. He wasn't.

After 15 minutes, I reach my cottage, walk up the stairs to my porch, and glancing at the porch swing that I haven't sat on in years. Pulling the keys out of my back pocket, I turn around one more time to see if my stalker had followed me here. Realizing I probably completely burned him off, I turn the key and walk in. Out of habit, I reach for my ear buds to pull them out, but remember he had pulled them out. Looking down, I see the buds still dangling out of my shirt. I unclip the Shuffle, placed it and the keys in the bowl I kept on the table by the front door, and walk into the kitchen to get a glass of water and a handful of gummy bears that I kept in a large glass jar. Breakfast of champions.

After a longer than usual shower, I change into one of my many Lunch Box t-shirts, and skinny jeans. Slipping on a pair of converse sneakers, I grab my messenger bag, and head for the restaurant. By the time I get there, I see Pete's truck waiting for me in the back. I hop off my bike, to meet Pete at the door. "Hey Pete! Have anything good for me today?"

Pete smiles, following me into the restaurant with a couple of crates. Resting them on one of the kitchen counters, he says, "You seem cheerful today. Sound like the girl I used to see studying taped up European history terms above the sink while doing dishes. You look good Elena. Happy."

"Oh, Pete!" I say laughing, "That was so long ago, and honestly how else was I going to remember what the hell happened in the Prussian War?"

Clearing his throat, he says, "Elena, you've been doing such a great job, especially after everything that's happened, but I need to tell you something."

Concern etches his face, and his brow furrows. "You're past 2 checks have bounced. I've let it go, because we've been doing business for so long, but I can't let it…."

"What? That's impossible," I say, not letting him finish. "We have plenty of money in the business account. Let me write you a check from my personal account to cover the cost. I'll go to the bank today. There's probably a mistake."

I pull the checkbook out of my messenger bag and start writing him a check, "How much do I owe you Pete?"

Pete looks uncomfortable, and hands me the pink invoice. "You owe $1,520.00."

I suck in air. Knowing that if Pete's checks bounced, other's must have. I'd barely have enough to cover the costs. _What was going on?_ I knew I shouldn't have taken Jeremy's advice and hired an accountant. This would've never happened if I was still in charge of the books.

I try to plaster a composed look on my face. The restaurant needs to keep a good relationship with Pete. He brought the best fish, and business was business, if we couldn't pay, he'd go to someone else. "No problem Pete!" I say as I sign the check.

Once Pete left, I immediately call our new accountant, Evan. He doesn't pick up. _Of course he doesn't pick up._ Something was going on. I pace the kitchen, angrily prepping for the day. Taking my fury out on the onions and garlic. Looking at my phone for the millionth time, and noticing there were no phone calls, I hear the back door open. The booming voices of Scott and Ben fill the kitchen. "Did you see that drop I did this morning? Man, it was sick."

"No, I saw you admiring Claire's ass, while _she_ made incredible drops and you rode ankle busters."

"Shut the fuck up, Ben," Scotty says, punching Ben's arm.

They looked up, and stop in their tracks, seeing me standing in the kitchen, anger clearly visible on my face, holding a chopping knife in my hand. "Hey Gilbert," Ben says, warily.

"Put down the knife. We are not here to hurt you," Scotty jokes, putting his hands up in the air.

This made me giggle, immediately releasing some tension from the past hour. I place the knife on the counter, and the moment I do, Scott comes barreling toward me, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. "I've got her Ben! The criminal that entered our kitchen, must be put in her place."

I scream as Scott runs me to the dishwashing area and places me right in front of the sink. "This isn't the 1950's Scott! I have work to do!"

"No, you don't!" Ben says, "We've got it from here. Go take care of whatever is putting you in the mood of a serial killer."

I jump up and wrap my arms around Ben, kissing him on the cheek, and then doing the same to Scotty. "Claire's missing out!" I say, laughing as I leave the kitchen to go to my office.

My office is located below the restaurant. There was a small basement that was turned into a couple of offices back when my mother ran things. One office is mine and the other is used as a place to relax. We keep the wine in there, and a small refrigerator full of diet coke and more wine. It has a black leather couch and a desk with an extra Macbook on top. Through that office, is a door to my office. I walk in, placing my messenger bag on the chair opposite of my desk. The desk is 70 years old, and is the same one my great grandmother used when she started the restaurant and it primarily catered to people traveling from San Diego to Los Angeles. When my mother turned the basement into offices, she had the writing desk moved from the cottage. It is in incredibly good condition, made of oak and had a roll top with a pedestal drawer base. It also had my siblings names carved into the side, something my brother Jeremy dared me to do, and I ended up getting restaurant dishes for two weeks as a consequence.

I take the MacBook air out of my bag, and turn it on, logging into the business account for our bank. I type in the account number and password, but I hit an error page. I try again, and I get the same page. _What?_ I call Evan again, but am, once again, directed to voice mail. Just as I'm about to head out to the bank, my phone lights up. Evan. _Thank God_. I pick up the phone. "Evan! Where the hell have you been? Pete told me that my checks have been bouncing."

"Elena, calm down," he says.

"You have some nerve telling me to calm down. I have half a mind to fire your ass," I say, anger rising in my voice.

"Listen to me. There was a problem with the account, someone got a hold of the account's information, so I had to change the account around. Everything should be back to normal within the next 24 hours."

"Don't you need my permission before you do anything to the account? You should've called me."

This didn't make any sense. Why would two, _probably more_ , of Pete's checks bounced if this just happened? And how did he have so much control over our account? I could hear Evan sigh at the other end of the phone, clearly irritated. "When I started a few of months ago, you signed off on giving me power over the business account, just for emergencies like this."

I tried to calm down. Evan wasn't an idiot, he came highly recommended by Jeremy. Jeremy and he were in the same social circle in San Francisco. Jeremy going to art school, and at the time, Evan interning at some accounting firm while he finished up at Stanford. I try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe Pete didn't try to deposit the checks until recently. I sighed, "Okay Evan, but I want to set up a meeting with you so we can go over finances. I don't know how I feel about you having full control over everything."

I could almost hear his eyes rolling. "This is my job Elena, and I'm busy today. I'm out of town, but I'll call you when I get back. I can do most of your finances remotely."

I resigned myself. "Okay, just call me when you get back."

After we hung up, I still had an unsettling feeling in my stomach. I'll talk to Caroline about it. She'll know what to do. We had a Skype session scheduled for this afternoon. She'd just arrived in France, and I was already missing her. Luckily, she was still on California and welcomed the distraction at all hours.

After calling some of our suppliers and checking my email, I head upstairs. Suz was busy getting the front end ready for opening when I came up stairs. "Ass is looking good in those jeans Gilbert," Suz jokes, slapping me on the butt and giving me a hug.

"This is a professional establishment Suzannah, and I will consider any ass slapping sexual harassment. But, commenting on my rack is perfectly fine," I joke.

Suz giggles, placing the white cloth she was holding into her pocket. "Tyler was ogling your rack. I'm sure he'd be happy to comment on it."

I blush, and my mind wanders to this morning and the way my mysterious stalker looked at me. "You like Tyler, don't you!" Suz accuses.

This stops me, and the realization that we had to open in five minutes came back. "We have to open in five Suz. Is everything ready to go?"

"Okay, change the subject. Couldn't blame you. He's rich and completely into you."

Ignoring her comment, I walked around the restaurant, opening the door to the deck and making sure all the flowers and herbs were watered. Finally making my way back to the front end of the house, I fluff the pillows in our seating area and get the keys to open up. There was a line out the door, and I smile at our first customer as I prop open the door. "Good morning Marian! It's good to see you. Are you meeting your daughters?"

Marian Combs has been coming to our restaurant every week, for the past ten years to eat lunch with her daughters. She was short with curly silver hair, pearl earrings and a kind smile. Whenever she hugged me, I immediately smelled like her Chanel No. 5 for the rest of the day, something I didn't mind.

I let the customers in, and within the next fifteen minutes, the restaurant was completely full, with people waiting to be seated. I was dancing between tables, trying to talk to all the customers that have been coming in for years, and giving recommendations of things to do to the tourists. Marion's daughters told me all about their children, and Isobel, her youngest daughter, asked me to go to her wedding reception. Really, I think she just wanted the Lunch Box to host her bridal shower. I smile at her verbal invitation, praying she wouldn't pursue. I hate large social functions, and found myself usually either hiding in the bathroom, or helping the catering staff do dishes.

I was heading to the kitchen to run an order, when I saw a familiar man walk in. He looked around the restaurant, assessing the business, until our eyes met. He looks out of place, stiff, in a suit and bow tie among patrons in their khakis, floral prints, and flip flops. He smiles, and I immediately walk up to greet him. "Hello, Mr. Lockwood. I haven't seen you in here for a while. Did you want a table? You might have to wait a few minutes for a table to open up."

He grins, "Elena Gilbert. Well aren't you the spitting image of your mother. I almost had to do a double take when I walked in."

"Flattery won't get you a table any sooner," I chide.

"Well, you can't blame me for trying," he pauses. "I'm actually here to talk to you, if you have a minute."

Just then, Suz walked up. "Elena, table 6 is asking for you, and Mrs. Combs wants to take a picture with you."

I look at Mr. Lockwood apologetically, "Sorry, I can't meet right now. As you can see, I'm busy," I walk behind the front desk, and grab one of my cards from the counter. "Here, call me and we can set something up. Suz would be happy to take your order, if you wanted to get something to go, on the house."

Richard Lockwood looked at the card, and then placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll have my assistant call you, and I'd love a smoked chicken almond salad sandwich to go. Your mother made the best chicken salad."

 _What was he trying to accomplish by bringing up my mother twice within one three minute conversation?_ "Well, it was nice seeing you Mr. Lockwood," I say, cutting the conversation short and attempting to conceal my irritation.

As I go in for a hand shake, he awkwardly embraces me in a hug. "You're a hard worker and doing a fine job running things. I can see why my son fancies you."

Okay, this just got weird. Tyler had no feelings toward me, and has only ever been a complete and total dick. I mean, there was a time in high school when we were good friends, but that ship sailed long ago. Pulling away, I politely nod and sheepishly walk away, towards Mrs. Comb's table. There was no way I was meeting with him anytime soon, I don't care if he owns half of Newport.

As our final customers left, I throw the keys to Suz, which she expertly catches to lock up while I close out the register. "Okay Gilbert, go. Leave. Skype with Caroline. I can finish up here. You've been in a bad mood ever since Mr. Newport came and demanded an audience."

I glare at her. "I've not been in a bad mood, and I'm perfectly capable of finishing up here and then calling Caroline."

"You yelled at Brody for not telling you about the low dishwashing fluids so you could order more, even though they're still half full. You _never_ yell at Brody, even when he comes in high and smelling like he fell into a Cheeto factory."

I roll my eyes, "To be honest, Brody gets his work done faster when he's high."

Suz laughs. "Go home Elena. I already talked to Ben and Scott about finishing up. We'll be okay. This is what most bosses do, they delegate."

I dramatically throw my hands up in the air, "Fine! I'll go. Just don't burn the place down while I'm gone."

Once I get home, I switch on my computer and call Caroline. Within a minute her face appears. Her blonde hair is in a sloppy bun, like she's getting ready to go to bed.

"Hey you. How are the Parisians treating you?"

"They're lovely, it's Miss. Haaz that's being a demanding ass," she mumbles. Suddenly, her eyes light up like she's just remembered something. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Rebekah Mikaelson agreed to follow me if I ever leave Pamela."

"Seriously? That's amazing. She's practically royalty."

"I know! She can be such a bitch when we have to sew her into something for an event, but getting her account is huge. I just need to develop more contacts before I take the #1 spot on Pamela Haaz's shit list."

"Haaz better watch her back."

"Damn straight. So, what's up? You have that doe-eyed-caught-in-headlights look."

Frustrated, I put my head in my hands. "My life is so weird," I groan.

"Get over yourself and tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

I look up and glare at her, immediately deciding to not tell her about my potential money problems. "I'm being stalked."

"Is he cute?"

I roll my eyes. "Caroline! This is serious. For the past week, this guy's been running along side me and then he just disappears."

"Is. He. Cute?" she says, punctuating every word.

I feel the color rise to my cheeks.

"He is! Oh my God. Elena Gilbert totally likes her stalker," Caroline chuckles, her blonde hair falling in her face.

"I don't know what to do!" I scream into the computer.

Caroline straightens and puts on her composed bossy face. The face I needed right now. "First of all, he's not stalking you. Stalkers hide in the shadows, he's out and out making himself seen. And I don't think that you think he's a stalker either, because you haven't exactly switched up your running route, have you?" she pauses. "You need to get his attention. Wear that nude sports bra I sent you and the oxblood leggings with that see through mesh strategically placed in all the right places."

"I cannot wear that. First of all, I'm actually running, and I like to be comfortable when I run, and second, it's so not me. I'd look like one of those attention seeing Newport socialites that bounce around the gym and do paleo brunches. I'd look like Katie Fucking Hamilton," I groan.

"Katie may have screwed Tyler on prom night, but the girl can dress."

"Caroline!"

"Sorry, but she had a nice wardrobe."

"Girl code. You are supposed to hate her with me."

"Fine. She's an evil slut."

"Better. I get your point, and I'll think about it."

"Come on Elena. You want him to actually talk to you, not just be your mute running buddy. Get out of your depressing hole and dress…"

"Like I care," I finish.


	2. Chapter 2 Fractured Moonlight On the Sea

Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews. I enjoy reading everyone's take on this AU. Just a quick edit note, for whatever reason, I referred to Tyler's dad as Jason Lockwood, when his name is Richard Lockwood. I fixed it in this chapter. Enjoy chapter 2!

Chapter 2: Fractured Moonlight on the Sea

Caroline wants me to visit her in Paris, and even though I said yes to shut her up, I knew realistically that she knew I couldn't leave. Who would run things at the restaurant while I was gone? Suz? I trust her to finish up in the afternoons occasionally, but I don't know about for days at a time. I trust Ben and Scotty, but I couldn't put that on them. Part of the reason they love working at the Box is because they had the freedom to go surfing in the morning and go out at night.

I get up and walk into the kitchen, opening the vintage baby blue refrigerator, I pull out a bottle of chardonnay, grab a glass and a cork screw. Walking over to the white couch in the living room, I set my liquid dinner on the coffee table. Reaching under the table, I pull out a photo album. Using one hand, I wipe the dust off the cover and open it. While polishing off the bottle of wine, I flip through photos of me playing battleship with Jeremy on the deck at the Lunch Box, pictures my mother took of me at various track meets, a picture of my Aunt Jenna holding me in her lap, reading a Barenstain Bear's book, a picture of my mother and grandmother cooking side by side at the restaurant. Closing the album, and carefully putting it back in it's place under the coffee table, I clean up my dinner, turn out all the lights in the cottage, make sure I've secured all the locks, and head to my room for the evening.

XXXXXX

 _"Walk little walk, small talk big thoughts, Gonna tell them all just what I want…"_ I open my eyes, groaning at the abrupt onslaught of Foster the People lyrics. Squinting at the sun illuminating my room, I throw off my covers and hit the alarm. For one of the first times in recent memory, I actually take Caroline's fashion advice. Avoiding the booty shorts, I pull out the outfit she wanted me to wear. The nude sports bra and the oxblood leggings with the strategically placed mesh panels. After I get dressed, I pull my hair back into a sleek pony tail, and check the mirror. The deep red leggings go well with the top, but I have no clue how I am supposed to run in just a sports bra. _Where do I clip my Shuffle?_ Seems so impractical.

As I tie my shoes, and grab the Shuffle charging in my computer, I'm tempted to throw a t-shirt on over my top, but I decided that I was just going to have to commit to the look for one day. It's not like my possessive stalker was going to follow me this morning. He looked pretty burnt after I ditched him. I take a deep breath, clip the shuffle to the waistline of the leggings, and zip the house keys safely in the hidden back pocket.

I walk out the front door and start my run. The outfit is surprisingly comfortable. _Maybe I will try out the booty shorts._ Just as I round the corner a couple of blocks away from my house, I feel a familiar lovely rush somewhere in my lower region. As I was about to turn and get a good look at my mysterious shadow, I feel his hand clasp my arm and pull me in an alley. He towers over me, his eyes scanning my body, darkening as our eyes meet. His cap is pulled low, but from my vantage point, I could see him seething. I grimace at the change in mood, and feel the lovely warmth from earlier, replaced with something darker. _What is his problem?_

Still gripping my arm, he takes his other hand and slowly grazes my stomach, causing heat to pool throughout my entire body. I could feel my nipples harden and pray it doesn't show through my bra. _How does he do that? How does he have so much power over me?_

He smirks, and I question whether or not I accidentally vocalized my thoughts. "What do you think you're doing?" he says.

 _God this man was annoying._ "What are you talking about? I was running, until you rudely interrupted my routine."

His hand remains clamped to my arm. "You shouldn't go out like that. It's not safe. Go put something on over that," he says, not trying to hide the fact that he was staring at my breasts and pointing at them as he says, "You don't live far from here."

 _Who the fuck does this guy think he is? And he knows where I live? That's just…._ "No! I don't know you! I don't even know your name. How _dare_ you try to order me around. I can wear whatever I want," I say, and with all the strength I have, I twist around, effectively releasing myself from his grip, and dart off.

I thought he would chase after me, but he doesn't. This…whatever _this_ was…. wasn't going anywhere anyways if he was going to refuse to have a normal human conversation.

I continue to loop around until I'm back on track with my route. I run, trying to get him out of my head. After a few minutes, I'm on one of the many streets I run down with little boutique shops and cafes, when I feel the familiar grip around my arm, pulling me in another alley behind a surf shop. With his hand clamped around my wrist, like I weight nothing, he positions me so he has me locked in between him and a brick wall.

"God," I yell. "You're going to dislocate my shoulder if you keep doing that! You could just ask, you know? Like, _Hey! Can I talk to you?_ There's no need to surprise me and pull my body into a creepy alley."

I look up, meeting his eyes, and I feel the same rush of pleasure, actually catching my breath. "You have a tendency of running away from me," he says, dangerously quiet.

"It's a perfectly normal human reaction to run away from a complete stranger who is stalking me," I reply. I was conflicted, because at that moment, I couldn't tell if the energy between us was sexual tension or just me being really pissed off.

He releases his grip, tugging my earbuds loose. He leans in, caging me with one arm against the brick wall, and for the first time, I notice a bag in his other hand. He gives the bag to me, "Put this on."

Shocked and curious, I open the bag and inside I pull out a large _I love Newport Beach_ tank top, except instead of "love" there's a red heart. _Oh! This is ridiculous._ "Really? What did you do? Get this at a local convenience store? I'm not wearing this."

Immediately my eyes look around for an escape route. "No running, remember?" he says, leaning in closer.

My heart rate quickens and I could feel my cheeks flush as he takes the shirt from my hand. Hovering over me, his eyes take me in from beneath his baseball cap, as if deciding which direction to take this weird conversation. I bite my bottom lip, wondering what he was going to do. We stay in that position for what seems like an eternity. In a complete stalemate, I gaze into his deep blue irises, then past his straight nose, to his lips. They look soft and yummy and I absently wonder what it would be like to touch them.

As my eyes continue to linger on his lips, with one swift motion, he takes my left arm and pins it above my head, pressing me completely against the brick wall. Our eyes lock, and I instinctively tilt my head up in anticipation. He raises an eyebrow, smirking, knowing he has me completely under his spell.

"I could scream. Call for the police," I say quietly. His lips curl in amusement and he uses the hand still holding the shirt to wrap around my lower back, pulling me closer to him and then with sudden ferocity, he kisses me.

At first, it's a chaste kiss, but as he pulls back, my mouth opens to meet his and I find myself lost in the the moment, allowing him to take hold of my willpower. He takes his time, savoring my taste, and our tongues tease each other as his hand releases my back. Still kissing me, he takes my free hand and crosses it with my other hand above my head, holding both hands steady above my head with one hand.

His head pulls away, and I moan in disapproval. With his remaining free hand, he puts the tank top on over my head. I know exactly what he's doing, and for the briefest of moments, I don't care, completely addicted to his presence. Just as my head started to clear, I make to protest, but he stops me with one warning look. He carefully guides my arms through the holes in the shirt, taking his time to graze the entirety of my arm, his fingers, hovering over my clavicle, then guides the shirt over my breasts, then my stomach, and around my waist. His fingers linger at the hem of the shirt, making sure its on straight, then he takes my Shuffle that's still clipped to my waistband, moves it to the bottom of my shirt, and carefully places the dangling earbuds back in my ears.

He breaks away, leaving me completely stunned. "Shall we continue our run?" he says with a hint of humor.

I lick my lips and nod my head, fiddling with my playlist in an effort to compose myself. He smiles, giving me that look that probably gets thousands of innocent girls in his silk sheets. _I wonder if he has black silk sheets. Red is too Hugh Hefner. Wait, I can't think about his sheets and his bed and me beneath him on said sheets. Shit._ I look up to see him waiting for me on the sidewalk, he has a completely satisfied and knowing look on his face. Asshole.

We continue the run with him on my left side, continuing to buffer traffic and holding out his arm to stop me at every light. I replay the last half hour over and over in my head. Where exactly was this going? I still didn't know his name and he was this complete stranger to me, but at the same time, there was a level of familiarity. One not just achieved from sticking his tongue down my throat.

Towards the end of the run, out of my peripheral vision, I see him take a right and leave. A pang of hurt replaces the feelings of exhilaration from earlier. _And he says I run from him?_ I continue to walk through the front door and into the quiet house to get ready for work.

XXXXXX

With Ben and Scotty in the kitchen finishing up prep, I head downstairs to check the bank account. Evan said that it should be ready by now, but as I log on, the same page pops up telling me there's an error. _Fuck_. I immediately grab my phone and try to call Evan, but this time, there is a voice saying the number has been disconnected. My stomach rolls, threatening to expel the gummy bears I had earlier. I'd blindly trusted the wrong person, and I knew it.

I dial the bank and wait until I can get ahold of someone in customer service. When a very polite voice answers, I can't help but feel irritated. "Customer service, how might I help you?"

"Yes, I've tried entering my account information into the computer, but it won't allow me access my account."

"I can see how that would be frustrating. I just need a little information from you so I can access your account."

I give her all of my information, and wait for her to confirm that there was a mistake and I should be able to log on shortly. But instead I hear her frantically asking someone else for help. After a few moments, she says, "I'm sorry, but in order for you to get more information, you're going to have to go in person to a bank location. I can give you a list of the locations closest to you, if you would like."

Something was definitely up. I look at the clock and realize we'd be opening in a few minutes. I had no time to go to the bank, I'd have to go in the morning. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe it's just taking longer to change the account around. But there's the problem of Evan's phone being disconnected. Maybe I should call Jeremy and see if he knows where Evan is, but I hated to involve Jer. He needed to focus on school, not worrying the Lunch Box. Maybe I can get Suz to lock up again while I go to the bank. Maybe….Maybe…Maybe….Maybe I royally fucked up.

"That's okay," I mutter. "I know where my local bank is."

After hanging up, I run upstairs, put on my half apron and open the door.

The restaurant is busy, but slower than usual an hour into service. I was walking back from delivering a lemon shrimp and orzo salad to a table on the patio, when I see a tall figure walk in the front end of the restaurant. He takes off his Tom Ford black rimmed sunglasses, looking for someone. When his eyes find mine, he smirks. Apparently, Tyler Lockwood wasn't going to go away, so I decide to be nice.

"Tyler! How was the interview at your father's business?" I say, approaching him. He leans down to give me a hug, and I allow the awkward embrace to happen. My mother used to say, _always_ be nice to _all_ the customers, when I started waiting tables, and my first tip was literally three pennies from a rude tourist. "I smell like fish and onions," I squeal, when his hug is a little too familiar. It was not the same warm encounter from my run. Instead, I felt slightly violated.

"You know I've never minded Elena," he says, putting me down and taking a step back. I could see Suz whistling as she eyed me from the corner of the patio door. "Wow" she mouthes, causing me to roll my eyes.

"So, what's up? We're in the middle of service, did you want something to eat?"

"Yeah, and you seem real busy too," he says motioning to the empty tables.

"Don't be an ass," I say punching his arm, a little harder than I intended. "What do you want Tyler?"

Tyler playfully feigns pain, and makes to answer, but suddenly the color drains from his face. A voice that causes warmth to poor through every facet of my body says from behind me, "Tyler Lockwood. I didn't expect to see you here."

I turn around to see the blue eyes I stared into earlier on in the day. Except he wasn't wearing running clothes, he didn't have a baseball cap on, covering his raven black hair, combed, parted, but still a tad too long and wild, like he walked out of the pages of GQ. I immediately wanted to run my hands through it and mess it up. He was in a charcoal grey Armani suit with, ironically, a red oxblood tie. He takes off his aviators and I noticed the look of surprise on his face. _So, this wasn't a calculated move to stalk me at work._

Tyler made out to shake his hand, "Damon Salvatore. Didn't expect to see you in Newport this time of year."

 _Damon Salvatore? Why did that name sound familiar?_ Damon looks at me, cocking his head to the side as he says to Tyler, "I'm here to do a little business, check on the hotel and get in some running. They have great trails here, and you can't beat the view."

 _Hotel?_ "You should have Elena here take you for a run," Tyler says motioning to me. "We were on the high school cross country team together, but she hates running with other people. I've been trying to get her to run with me for years," Tyler adds, laughing. I can't help but roll my eyes. He's acting like we're still 16 and friends, and not as though we've barely talked since the accident.

Damon looks at me, smirking mischievously. "That's too bad. I've been looking for a running partner."

I smirk. "I like peace and quiet on my runs. Running with someone else has always made me feel like I have an annoying shadow following me that I have to slow down to a jog for."

"That's too bad. It might be good for you to have someone to compete with, help you push your own physical limits, make your heart race," Damon says, knowingly.

My jaw drops and I am suddenly unable to speak. Tyler looks between both of us and wraps a possessive arm around my waist. Something he has never done before. "Well Damon, Elena was just showing me to a table."

I look up at Tyler, questioningly. Since when did Tyler actually stay to eat? He usually grabbed something to go. I turn to look at Damon, whose eyes are seething with anger. _Damn. What happened?_ Not knowing quite what to do, I uncomfortably remove myself from Tyler and say, "If you'll excuse me Mr. Salvatore, I'll be right back."

Taking a menu from the counter, I show Tyler to an empty table on the patio.

"I don't need a menu Elena. I know what I want," Tyler says.

 _Why does that seem like a loaded statement?_ Ignoring his weird mood, I say, "Okay Tyler, what do you want?"

"Don't trust Damon Salvatore," he says, seriously, narrowing his eyes at me.

This came completely out of left field. "What? Why? He's just a customer, Tyler."

 _Fuck, did he know that Damon had me pressed against a brick building this morning?_ I shake my head at the absurdity of the thought. "He's more than a customer. He has a hidden agenda. Damon Salvatore is a ruthless business man. He's obviously here for a reason."

"You mean besides to get a quick bite to eat at a local establishment? I think you're being paranoid Tyler, and kind of over stepping," I pause waiting for my words to sink in. "Now, I have customers to get to, so what would you like _to eat_?"

Relenting, Tyler says, "I'll get the cornmeal crusted soft-shell crab sandwich and a beer, Newport Storm."

"Great," I say, writing it down. "I'll have Suz bring your bread basket."

As I walk back, I notice Damon in heavy conversation with Suz. She's talking to him animatedly, and I could feel my blood boil as she casually touches his shoulder and leans in, giving him a perfect view of her ample chest. Noticing me, Suz looks up, "Sorry Gilbert, I was just telling Mr. Salvatore about the Taste of Newport coming up. I was saying if he's in town, he should go," then directing her attention back to Damon she adds, "The Lunch Box has a tent every year. Elena makes her great grandmother's recipe for chili and honey cornbread. It's always a hit."

I was irritated and I had no clue why. Maybe it was the way Suz was leaning in and over sharing, or the fact that my morning distraction was here in the flesh, or maybe it was the fact that I could feel Tyler's eyes watching this entire interaction, even though he was on the patio. I snapped. "Suz, I doubt Mr. Salvatore will still be in town when the festival happens." I attempt a smile and add, "Now could you please get Tyler a bread basked and a Storm, he's on the patio."

I hand her Tyler's ticket to give to the kitchen. As she leaves, I turn towards Damon, who is looking at me with narrowed eyes. It's the first time we are somewhat alone since this morning. "What's your relationship with Tyler Lockwood?" he says, taking me completely off guard.

 _Ugh._ I feel like we are repeating the same argument from this morning. "What business is it of yours, _Damon Salvatore?_ " I say, enunciating his name.

He walks closer to me, until we're inches from each other. "Oh, _Elena Gilbert_ , haven't you realized that I'm making it my business to learn everything about you."

I flush and look down at my feet, tucking a loose lock of hair behind my ear, not sure how to process what he said. Damon steps closer, so close I can smell a faint hint of his cologne mixed with him, natural and masculine. He takes his hand and tilts my chin up so I'm forced to make eye contact with him. My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I think he's going to kiss me again, right there in the middle of service, when a voice shouts behind him, "Damon, I'm so sorry I'm late. I had the hardest time finding this little shack."

I step back, feeling like an idiot, remembering that he didn't come here for me. He had no clue I was associate with this place. A tall blonde, sidles up next to him and together they look like the perfect couple. His chiseled features, deep blue eyes, and svelte body, next to her voluminous blow out, rail thin figure, professionally done make-up and legs for days, they look like they stepped out of a the Hot Couples column in Us Weekly. I can't help but roll my eyes as I grab a couple of menus.

"Would you like to sit inside or outside on the patio?" I ask her, trying to make my voice sound unaffected.

I could still feel his eyes on me, and I wish I just let Suz handle him. Damon looks uncomfortable as she hooks her arm in his and leans in to ask him a question. "What do you think Damon? Inside or outside?"

I accidentally make an audible sigh, which causes him to smirk. "We'll sit outside. _Thank you, miss_."

I guide them to a table overlooking the ocean, and as they sit down, I make to leave, but the buxom blonde stops me, "Excuse me, but don't you have any specials? Or a wine list?"

 _Fuck_. _She was going to make me say the whole speech._ I turn around, and look directly at her, avoiding Damon. "Of course. The wine list is on the back of the menu. For our specials today, we have Ahi fish tacos with a lime cilantro slaw and a potato chip encrusted fried chicken sandwich in a homemade buttermilk bun with a Maytag blue cheese aioli, beefsteak tomatoes and rocket lettuce. Our soup today is a slow roasted tomato basil bisque. Can I get you anything to drink while you look over the menu?"

I stand there as she spends, what seemed like forever, looking over the wine list. Damon stays silent, and I refuse to give into the temptation to look at him, so I could see if he was giving anything away as to what he was thinking. "I can give you more time, if you'd like."

"No, no," she says, and then to Damon she adds, "I hate it when they leave after giving customers the menu, because they take _forever_ to come back."

 _Oh god. I was dying a slow death._ Between her indecisiveness, Damon not uttering a word, and Tyler constantly looking over at the table, I wanted to hide out in the kitchen and do dishes while Brody took over my tables.

I continue to stand there, looking around for an escape route, as she flips the menu back and forth, until Damon puts me out of my misery, "Why don't you get us a bottle of Bryant Cabernet. I'll have the potato chip sandwich, it sounds intriguing."

I smile at him, grateful. We both turn to Indecisive Barbie, waiting for her to say what she would like. "Everything seems so…..heavy. I guess I'll have the spinach and strawberry salad, except hold the dressing, the goat cheese, and the pistachios."

"So, you just want spinach, strawberries and onions," I say flatly.

"Oh, hold the onions. I don't want my breath to smell for the rest of the day," she says seriously.

"Spinach and strawberries it is, plus a potato crusted chicken sandwich and a bottle of Cabernet. I'll have Suz bring your bread basket and wine," I say, trying to escape as quickly as possible.

I turn around and practically run from the table, to the front of the house, ignoring Tyler's silent hand signals for me to go over to his table. I catch Suz, walking back from delivering an order. "Suz, Damon's table needs a bottle of Bryant Cabernet, and…"

"Damn, that's the expensive stuff," she whistles.

"Suz, focus. They need the bottle, a bread basket, and can you run Tyler's order?"

"Gladly, but I'm kind of swamped here. When I'm done getting Mr. Salvatore his wine and bread basket, I have to get table 6 their bill and table 8 needs their order taken. Besides, Tyler's here for you. Avoiding him will just make it worse, _on me_."

Hmmm…Tyler _was_ here for me. This could be interesting. "Fine, I'll take Tyler. Just get get Ken and Malibu Barbie their wine and bread. God knows he'll need the wine to get through a conversation with her."

Oh, that sounded nasty and catty coming out, but I didn't care. Suz snorted, "I like this side of you Gilbert."

As she went downstairs to get the wine, I ran into the kitchen to see if Tyler's order was ready. Scotty had his head down plating an order, while Ben was working the grill. I handed Scotty the ticket, and waited for him to look at it. "Seriously? Just spinach and strawberries on a plate? One of those tables, huh?"

"Yup. Do you have the crab sandwich ready?"

"Plating it up right now."

"Thanks Scotty," I say as I walk to the refrigerator to get another beer. I place the beer, a chilled glass with a lime wedge on the corner, and the crab sandwich on a small circular tray and walk out, holding a glass pitcher in my other hand.

As I walk out front, I'm surprised to see that no one is waiting to be seated. _Weird._ Maybe it's just a fluke occurrence. We're usually bustling at this time of day. I walk out to the patio, and completely avoiding eye contact with Damon, I walk to Tyler, who's just a couple of tables away. Years of serving has prepared me for the gymnastics that I was about to perform. Making sure I position myself so Jacob can see exactly what's going on, I rest the water pitcher on the table. Leaning completely over, I place the plate in front of him while popping my butt out, and balancing the tray in the other hand. "The soft-shell crab sandwich, with homemade parmesan potato chips and a panfried onion dip," I say, resting my hand strategically on his shoulder.

"You don't need to tell me exactly what I ordered. What's with you, Gilbert?" Tyler says, moving so my hand awkwardly falls off his shoulder.

I swallow, not knowing what I was thinking. This wasn't me. I'm not this type of person. I look up, and see Damon smirking over at me. I roll my eyes, deciding the best strategy was to ignore his comment. "Did you want another beer?"

"Well, it looks like you brought me one anyways," he says motioning to the tray.

I bite my lip. This was a colossal disaster. Why was Tyler moody all of a sudden? Straightening myself, trying to get some dignity back, I say, "Look Lockwood, if you don't want it, I'll drink it."

Tyler grins, tossing his head back, laughing, "Gilbert drinking on the job. This _is_ high school all over again. Remember when we were freshmen, and Matt dared you to do shots whenever someone ordered a fish item on the menu?"

"How could I forget? 4 shots in, and I could barely hold a tray. I think I accidentally dropped a Cobb salad in a customers lap. Aunt Jenna killed me when we got home," blood immediately drained from Tyler's face.

"Look Elena, I'm…."

I wave my hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. It's all in the past," and quickly grab the beer, open it with a bottle opener and pour it into the chilled glass for Tyler.

"I'll leave you to your food. Let me know if you need anything else."

I take the water pitcher from his table, and as I walk away, I feel my eyes moisten. "Excuse me, miss, can I get some water?"

I turn around to see Damon waving me over to his table. I oblige and walk over, noticing Malibu Barbie isn't there. With my eyes cast downward, I quietly water his glass, feeling his eyes on me. "Are you okay?" he says, and when I look up, I can see the sincerity in his words.

"I'm fine, Mr. Salvatore," I quietly say, once again focusing on his water.

"Don't lie to me Elena."

When I finish filling his glass, my gaze shifts to his deep blue eyes, and for a moment, I'm lost in them, actually wondering if the answer to life's greatest mysteries are contained within those irises. "Is our food here yet? I swear, it shouldn't take this long," a shrill voice says, as she sits down, taking another sip of her wine.

"I apologize. I'll go check on your order right now," I say, straightening myself, turning my head so I don't have to look at him.

After I deliver their food, I walk back to Tyler's table to check on him. His plate is completely cleaned, leaving only the silver container used to hold the onion dip. "Delicious as usual Elena," he says with a satisfactory grin.

He makes to get out his wallet when I wave to stop him, "Your money's no good here, Lockwood."

"I should at least tip the help," he mocks.

"The help? Really?" I slap him on the shoulder.

Tyler gets out of his chair and asks, "Walk me out?"

I nod, "Let me just check on my tables."

I walk over to a couple of tourists on their honeymoon, fill their water and take their order. Then I pass Damon's table, and quietly refill their water, absentmindedly listening to their conversation. "So, I told Gretta that if she and Keith were going to vacation in Monaco, they had to stay in one of your hotels, but I hate to say it Damon, the Four Seasons in New York is better, so I gave them the number for the concierge there to get them prime tickets to Hamilton."

"That sounds nice," Damon says, watching me fill her glass.

When I pick up his glass, for the briefest of moments our hands graze, sending welcome tingles up my entire body.

"Thank you," he says politely.

I smile, and then walk back to Tyler, who is impatiently standing by his table. As we walk to the front end of the restaurant, Tyler leans down. "Elena, I meant every word. You can't trust Damon Salvatore. I can tell something's going on between you two."

There was something about Tyler's words that irritated me. "Tyler," I start to say, "Do you know why your Dad wants to meet with me?"

Tyler looks at me, but doesn't seem shocked by my change in subject. "I don't know. Why?"

"He was here. I thought you might know something."

He shrugs. "Probably just wanted to order your chicken salad sandwich and see how you're holding up. You know he cared about your mom."

Something about what he says rubs me the wrong way.

He puts his hands on my shoulders to focus my attention. I promptly take them off. "Stop doing that!" I whisper, so as not to make a scene.

Tyler takes a step back, running his hands through his hair. "Keep me updated on how things are going here. Pete tells me you're having financial trouble."

Now it's my turn to step back. "How did you know that?"

Tyler shrugs. "Lockwood Industries owns the port where Pete docks his boat. I care about you Elena. I just want to make sure the business is okay. I can help you, if you need it."

 _Oh, this is new_. "That's nice Tyler," I look down at my shoes, shifting my feet from side to side, and decide in that moment, I need new ones. "Everything's fine. Just some confusion over billing."

Tyler walks to the door, apparently not taking my slight brush off well. As he opens the door, he says, "Don't forget what I said," and then leaves.

For the remaining lunch service, I help Brody buss tables, take care of settling the bill for a few more tables, and deliver the last few desert orders. Suddenly, I notice Damon is still sitting at his table, scrolling through his phone, and nursing a glass of bourbon that appeared out of nowhere. After settling his bill with Suz, I had thought he left with his vary tall companion, who I saw leave as I was taking out a croissant bread pudding to the honeymoon couple.

I knew I could easily avoid him. I could have Suz and Brody finish while I slip out the back door and go to the bank, but there's a part of me that's intrigued. Straightening my apron and brushing the crumbs off my shirt, I walk over to his table.

Damon looks up from his phone, and presses his lips together, narrowing his eyes. "Sit," he says, once I approach his table.

Ordering me around again. _Great._ This was going to go well. "I'll stand, thank you. I just came over to see if there was anything else I could get you."

"I would think what I want is pretty obvious, Ms. Gilbert," he says cooly.

"From what I observe, you _want_ thin leggy blondes who will do what you say," I counter.

"Go to Italy with me. I have to take a quick trip this weekend, and could use some entertaining company. I'll have you back by lunch service on Tuesday," he says with quiet confidence, giving me a look that said he wanted to do a lot more than visit the coliseum.

I immediately sit down and take a huge gulp of his bourbon, letting his words settle in my mind. Hidden innuendo was all over his proposition. Silk sheets come back to my memory. _Why me?_ Was all I could think. _Why?_ He could have anyone, he could have Malibu Barbie…maybe he _has_ had Malibu Barbie. The thought causes bile to rise up in my throat and I feel sick. Maybe this is all in my head. I take another gulp of his bourbon, downing the glass and I look at him. His eyes darkening and assessing my reaction. My vision becomes fuzzy. Suddenly, something rises from my throat, and I run to one of the potted plants near by and throw up.

I feel him next to me within a matter of seconds and I try to wave him away, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he pulls my hair back and waits for me to finish. When I look up, he hands me one of the cloth napkins and looks at me with concern. "I bet you want to take back those words about right now, huh?" I say, trying to find humor in the situation.

"Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you," he says.

I wipe my mouth and help myself to some of his water. "I'm fine," I say, deciding the best thing to do was to ignore his proposition of going away for a weekend. "I shouldn't have drunk so much bourbon that quickly on an empty stomach," I smile apologetically.

"Why don't I take you home."

I cough and take another sip of water. "I don't think that's such a good idea," I mutter.

Damon pulls out a chair for me to sit down. "Nothing would happen that you didn't want to happen," he says seriously.

"That's what I'm worried about," I say, smirking at him. "But I actually have to finish up here."

"Do you _like_ working here?" he asks.

I look down and twist the napkin in my hands. "I've been working here since I could walk, and probably even before then. It's all I know."

"That's not much of an answer."

I straighten the napkin in my lap and fold it into a perfect square. "No," I say quietly. "I guess it's not."

The number of directions this conversation has been going is enough to give me whiplash. I have no clue why I'm suddenly being so honest. Deciding to switch tactics, I ask, "So, how do you know Tyler Lockwood?"

Damon straightens, "His father and I are in similar areas of business. I've seen Tyler at various social functions."

I'm tempted to dig further, but decide against it. "Do you like what you do for a living, Mr. Salvatore?"

This causes him to smile, and I think it's the first sincere boyish smile I've seen from him since he entered my life. "Growing up, I used to play with Legos. I'd build massive cities in my bedroom. Instead of tearing them apart when they were completed, to build something else, I would add to it, until my entire bedroom floor was covered with buildings," he pauses, grinning at the memory. "I enjoy my work, because I like building a variety of businesses, small or large, it doesn't matter. My work is never boring, Elena Gilbert."

Once again, Damon takes me completely off guard. "I have a feeling there are very few things that are boring about you, Mr. Salvatore."

"Elena, there's a phone call for you," Suz calls, from behind me and I suddenly remember that we are in the middle of closing.

"If you'll excuse me," I say, avoiding his gesture of help as I get up, knowing I probably still smell like vomit.

When I walk behind the counter, Suz gives me a knowing smile and hands me the phone. "This is Elena Gilbert," I say.

"Good afternoon Ms. Gilbert. My name is Crystal Warren, I'm Richard Lockwood's assistant. He would like to set up a lunch meeting with you."

"I run a restaurant, Ms. Warren. Lunch isn't exactly the best time," I reply, not knowing exactly how I was going to get out of this meeting, without Richard visiting me again during lunch service.

"I'm aware of that, Ms. Tate. According to the hours of your business, you're closed on Mondays. Would Monday at noon work for you? Mr. Lockwood has a table at the Balboa Club."

I sigh, resigning to the fact that I needed to get this over with. "Yes, that's fine. I'll meet him there at noon."

"No need Ms. Gilbert, we'll have a driver pick you up at your residence."

I hang up with Ms. Warren, frowning while I enter the appointment into my phone.

"Elena, do you mind if I leave for the day? All of the customers have left and the front door is locked. Everything is prepped for tomorrow. I just need to fold more napkins and polish the windows," Suz asks.

"Sure Suz, see you tomorrow."

Suz leaves through the kitchen and as I walk out of the serving area, I see that Damon is walking around, looking at family photos and newspaper clippings posted on one of the walls in the entryway.

"I thought you would've left. Don't you have a city to build?" I say, walking closer, so I could see which photo he was looking at.

Ignoring my comment, he points to a photo of my mother holding me on her hip at the Taste of Newport. I have chili all over my face and Rainbow Bright shirt, but there's a huge grin on my face as I look up at my mother. "Is this you?"

I laugh, "Yeah, my Dad took that photo when I was three. My mother used to make the Taste of Newport a family event. We'd spend the whole week before the event prepping. Picking out all the ingredients, roasting chillies, slow cooking the meat, and even making butter for the cornbread."

My eyes concentrate on the photo as I continue to talk. The way my mothers fingers curl around my waist; her brunette hair in a high bun with soft tendrils in her face; her massive Jackie O sunglasses she wore everywhere.

"We used to close the day before the event, and my mother would blast music as we worked. Sometimes it was Frank Sinatra, Nirvana or Madonna, other times she would let us choose."

"What would you choose?" Damon asks.

"Me? Well, Jeremy would choose Beastie Boys or something emo. With Jenna, it was always classic rock or the Beatles. I went for…"

"Destiny's Child?" Damon finished, laughing.

I cock my head to the side, looking at him, "You remembered?"

"Helping prevent a beautiful young woman from falling isn't something a man easily forgets."

I look down at the hem of my apron, fiddling with a loose piece of thread, knowing the follow up question. The one everyone asks who sees photos of my family, but not their presence at the restaurant.

"Do you really not like running with other people?"

I look up, searching his face for an explanation as to the random direction the conversation took, "You're not going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

"Ask me where my family is…why a 23 year old is running a family business without her family…what most people who see the photos ask me."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

"Not really, no."

"Then you don't have to tell me anything, right now" he says, simply.

 _Right now?_ Promises of a future, even just coffee, were dangerous.

"You didn't answer my question, though," he adds.

"Question?"

"You don't like running with other people?" he reminds me, leaning in closer.

"Oh yeah. No, I don't." And then looking up at him, I add, "Does that mean you'll stop running with me?"

I hold my breath in anticipation of his answer. Damon brushes a lock of hair from my face, and tucks it behind my ear. Cupping my chin in his hand, he tilts it slightly so I'm looking into his eyes. "No, Elena Gilbert, I don't plan on letting you run by yourself."

I step back, slapping his hand away. "You don't plan on letting me run by myself? LETTING ME?"

"Elena…"

"No," I yell. "You stalk me on my runs, and then you show up here. You did not come here for me. I haven't forgotten that you came in to have lunch with someone so horribly beautiful, I didn't realize people like her actually existed. Then, after she leaves, you tell me you want to take me to Europe on some romantic vacation? Who says that?"

Damon's eyes darken, "When I see what I want, I go after it."

"And did you want her? Or did you have her, and now you're bored, so your moving on to pathetic waitresses?"

"Don't do that," he says in a hushed anger, moving closer.

"Do what?"

"Demean yourself."

I take another step back and as I do, I realize backed up into the wall, effectively hitting my head, "Ouch!" I say, and using the moment to create further distance I make to walk behind the counter.

"Are you okay?" he says, attempting to rush over to me.

I wave him off, "I'm fine. But I need to finish up here and go to the bank before it closes."

Hopefully, he's realized what a complete disaster I am and leave. But he doesn't, instead he walks over to me, placing his hands on the counter while I stand on the other side. "Go on a date with me, tonight. You can run your errands and I'll pick you up at your place at 8:00."

"No," I reply, while going through tickets from lunch.

"What if," he pauses, causing me to look up out of curiosity. "What if we make a deal?"

"You want to bargain with me? Is this what you do with all the women in your life? Negotiate relationship terms?"

Startled, Damon coughs and I immediately regret using the word relationship. God! I needed to get away from him, fast.

"It's just an offer, Elena. What if I worked for you tomorrow, and in exchange, you'll go on a date with me tomorrow night."

I chewed on my lower lip, thinking about his offer. "You'd do dishes? Wear a Lunch Box shirt? Let me order you around?"

 _Oh, this has so many possibilities._ Damon hesitates, but smiles suggestively, "Yes, Ms. Gilbert, I'd let you tell me what to do," and then pauses and adds with emphasis, while pointing to the floor, "here."

I hold out my hand, and he takes it. "I think we have a deal, Mr. Salvatore." I say while shaking his hand. All day on his feet working here? Carrying trays and dealing with irate customers? He'd be unable to move by the end of the day.

"Before you go, I have to give you something. Wait right here," I say as I run downstairs to one of the storage areas. Opening a box, I pull out a large Lunch Box t-shirt, still wrapped in plastic. I quickly run upstairs and see him scrolling through his phone.

"Here you go," I say as I hand him the shirt. "Be sure to be here at 10:00. The door to the kitchen should be open."

It's the first time I see Damon look unsure of himself. He looks at the shirt and gives me a nod. "Tomorrow morning," and then winking at me adds, "bright and early."

I stop myself from rolling my eyes, knowing he's referring to the run. I walk Damon to the front door, opening it with my keys. He puts his sunglasses back on, smiles and walks out to his car, a sleek black Aston Martin. _So, he was a James Bond fan?_

I stare as he pulls out, until I feel my phone vibrate. I grab it from the pocket of my apron and look at it.

Damon: Don't you have errands to run?

I scoff, but oddly enough, am not completely surprised he somehow got into my phone. _When did I put it down?_ I quickly text him back.

Me: Too busy admiring James Bond's car.

I put the phone back in my apron pocket and lock the front door. Within a few minutes, I feel my phone vibrate again.

Damon: Did you just call me James Bond?

I laugh, and text him back.

Me: More like Q, for being able to hack into my phone.

Damon: It's not hard to hack into a phone that's left out.

He had a point. I constantly misplaced my phone.

Me: You shouldn't text and drive. Wouldn't want you wrecking that beautiful car.

I walk to the register to finish closing out and getting the deposit ready, when my phone vibrates again.

Damon: Bluetooth ;)

 _Oh, a winky face_. When Damon wasn't being a possessive ass, he could be really cute. I finish up with the front end, check the refrigerator to see what we need, make a list and leave the restaurant with my messenger bag slung across my shoulder.


	3. Chapter 3: Reflections

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews. It's been fun reading everyone's reaction to this AU that's been sitting in my files for a year. I've taken a few creative liberties with minor characters in this chapter. I guess that's the fun of an AU, right? Can't wait for you to read it! Let me know what you think. Chapter 4 will be posted later on today.

Chapter 3: Reflections Still Look the Same to Me

I arrive at the bank with a few minutes to spare before closing. Praying they'll still take me, I walk into the bank. Familiar faces smile at me, as I walk up to the counter. Kristy, the bank manager, is behind the counter. I hand her the bank deposit and account information.

"Good evening Elena. How's the Box? I've been meaning to get down there with Philip, he's been craving your crab sandwich," she says as she types in my information.

I hold my breath, waiting for her to pull up my account. "Look Kristy, there's been…" I start to say, but Kristy cuts me off.

"Elena, why don't you join me in my office." Kristy says, leading me to a chair in a room off the lobby. My stomach drops.

"It seems this account was closed two days ago," she says.

"What? Closed? Where did the money go?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My account was closed. We'd been doing business with this bank since my grandmother needed a bank account for the restaurant. How could this happen? It has to be a mistake.

"The bank closed it because it's been a delinquent account for the past couple of weeks."

I was going to pass out. Or throw up into the nearest flower pot again. Why wasn't I more careful? Evan was so great at first. Calling me everyday and meeting on a weekly basis. I trusted him. _Dammit._

Anger surges through me, not entirely directed at the bank. "What? What do you mean? _Why didn't the bank call me?_ "

"The primary name on the account is Evan Ward. The bank tried to contact him," she says.

I try to compose myself, but I was starting to feel light headed. Caroline had warned me when I hired Evan. I should have had lawyers look at the papers before I signed off on anything. I just wanted to trust someone and take a portion of the burden off of my shoulders. "What can I do today to solve this? What about incoming money from the credit card companies? What about my deposit today, or in the past couple of weeks?"

Since a good portion of our business was done with tourists, we didn't take checks, but a couple times a week, I made a deposit with the cash flow we got it. Even so, most business was done with debit or credit cards. I think back through the past couple of weeks, the last time I saw Evan was last Friday. He'd been making the deposits, so I could leave early and go to dinner with Caroline before she left. _Fuck._ I immediately knew what happened to them.

Kristy scans my account. "There hasn't been an in bank deposit in a couple of weeks. It seems as though whenever there was a deposit made by the credit card companies, your account was withdrawn."

"So, Evan's been embezzling. This is financial fraud. Can't I call the authorities?" This can't be it. There has to be something, apart from robbing this bank, that I could do to solve my latest problem. I put my head in my hands, knowing I don't look like a professional business owner and not really caring. God, sometimes I really hated money. Except for the part where it paid for electricity, good coffee, Netflix, and WiFi. And wine. And gummy bears. And Jer's tuition.

"Honestly Elena," I look up, sit back in my chair, and attempt to pay attention. "You could contact the authorities, but Evan was named as the primary person on the account. He's most likely out of the country. If you file a report, it will be a matter of public record. The question is, do you want this to become a top news story?"

My eyes well up. She was right. Filing a police report would mean the media would get ahold of the story, and considering The Lunch Box was a local institution, the story might end up being picked up by national news organizations, and it would drastically affect the business and my relationship with various vendors. _How could I have been so stupid?_ "But there should be at least $40,000 in the account," I say in a desperate whisper. I was just starting to build the account back up after spending over a year paying off huge medical bills.

Kristy looks at me, uncomfortably. I, once again, try to compose myself. "What do I need to do to get my account back up?"

"We're going to have to change all you account information around. Put you back as the responsible party, and you need to bring your account back up from the red," she says.

"How much do I owe?" I ask, pulling out a checkbook from my personal account.

"$7,562.89," she says flatly. I suck in air. Evan was slowly withdrawing from the account for probably the last couple of weeks, possibly more, meaning all of the check's I'd written in the past few weeks had bounced. This was going to take all of the money from my account, plus I'd have to dip into most of my savings.

"Look Kristy, I know that I came in late, but…" Kristy looks at me sympathetically.

"Don't worry about it Elena. We'll get the business account completely straightened out before you leave."

After having Kristy move money from my savings into checking, and we change the business account information around, I leave the bank an hour after they should've closed. I was close to broke. I was lucky that I owned the property to both the cottage and the restaurant, so I didn't have to worry about paying mortgages.

I hop on my bike and decide to get a drink. I don't feel like going home to quiet, and I didn't care that I was still in my Lunch Box shirt and jeans. I head to Main Street, park my bike and locking it to a bike rack. Slinging my messenger bag over my shoulder, I walk to a club that I used to go to with Caroline, _Wave._ Girls in scantily clad sparkly clothing and guys who constantly check their phone wait to get in. I bypass the line and walk straight up to the bouncer, a large man that looks ex military, wearing all black stands at the front of the line.

When he sees me, he smiles and runs up to give me a hug, picking me up and spinning me around. "Gilbert! Where've you been? My mom's been asking about you."

"Hey Samuel!" I say laughing. "On break from UCLA? I caught the games that were televised. I'm still shocked you guys didn't make it to the Sweet Sixteen."

Putting me down, Sam laughs, running his hand through his hair. "Yeah. It was a rough season, but I decided to commute this year. I wanted to stay and help my mom out, you know?"

Sam was best friends with Jeremy. They played basketball together in middle school. When Aunt Jenna caught Jer smoking pot in our old tree house, freshman year, she made him join a sport so he'd have an outlet. Jer played through high school. Well, "played _"_ is a strong word. He was more of a supportive spectator with front row seats on the bench. He made a lot friends, and even though, after Jenna saw him actually play and told him that he could quit, he stayed on the team. Sam went on to get a scholarship to UCLA and a spot on the Bruin's team.

"Yeah, I completely get it." I say. "Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."

People in line started complaining, but Sam just put out his hand and they shut up. He has that affect on people.

"The diagnosis came as a shock, but mom's trying to remain positive." Sam pauses, "I'm sorry, I don't want to keep you. Did you want to get in?"

"No need to apologize, but yes, I desperately need a drink. Is there a place where I can check in my bag?" I say.

"No, but I'll watch it for you. You can't trust coat check," he says giving me a wink.

I hand Sam my bag, and walk into the club. It's dark and the music is loud. Crystal chandeliers glistened above blue velvet booths. The dance floor is full of people moving to the loud beat. Purple and blue lasers dance above the crowd of people. I walk in and go directly to the bar. The bartender looks at me curiously and I pray I didn't go to elementary school with him. "Can I get 2 shots of Surfer on Acid and a ginger vodka?"

The bartender looks at me with a cocked eyebrow, "Sure thing. Coming right up."

After I order, a man sidles up in the empty chair next to me. "You look too sweet for a place like this," he says.

"Looks can be deceiving," I retort, keeping my eyes on the bartender making my drink.

The bartender pours my shots and slides them in front of me. I turn to my right, where the stranger is still sitting, and down both shots within a matter of seconds. His brown eyes glint as I take a sip of the ginger vodka. As I make to pay the bartender, the man moves my hand out of the way and puts down a $100.

"I like this girl next door look, very sexy," he says motioning to my shirt and jeans.

I shrug, hop off the stool, drink in hand, and as I walk to the dance floor say, "Thanks for the drinks."

The effects of the alcohol start to course through my veins, and I can feel the man at the bar close behind me. He places a hand on my shoulder as I walk out to the dance floor, finishing my drink on the way. I place it on a passing waitresses tray. His hand moves from my shoulder to my waist, grazing the small of my back, and I don't care. I don't care about anything.

We reach the dance floor, and he's all over me. His hands on my waist as I sway my hips to the music. He's still behind me, and pulls me closer so we're like one. My head falls on his shoulder, close my eyes and I blindly raise my hand to grab his neck as I move against his body. My mind is humming with numbness. His hands move to my stomach. My shirt is thick with sweat and starting to ride up. Just as his hands move up my abs to the curve of my breasts, I hear a collective gasp and open my eyes.

The crowd is parting for someone. With my vision slightly fuzzy, I can't make out who it is. The tall figure approaches and pulls me away from the guy I was dancing with. There's something familiar about his touch, but it's full of tangible anger. I try to regain my equilibrium, but stumble. I see the man who moved me punch the guy I was dancing with. People in the crowd are screaming. I move to stop the men, but Sam comes up behind me and pulls me to the side, wrapping an arm around me.

"Elena are you okay? Elena? Elena!"

And everything goes quiet and still, as my vision darkens.

XXXXXX

Sun streams into my my bedroom, and immediately turn my body away from the glaring rays. I momentarily try to fall back asleep, but the events from last night come rushing back. What happened? How did I get home? How did I get into my pajamas? _Oh! My head._ I sit up and groan. Then, looking at the clock, I scramble to the bathroom. _Fuck! I was late._ When I walk out of the bathroom, I see Damon sitting at the foot of my bed, in the Lunch Box t-shirt I gave him yesterday, and jeans. He's holding a bottle of water and a couple of Advil. I smile gratefully, not saying a word as I take them from his hands and sit on the other side of my bed.

We sit in silence as I wait for him to tell me what happened. When he doesn't, I say, "Did you go running without me?"

"You were out cold, I didn't want to wake you."

"So you stayed here?" I squeak, trying to go over the events of the previous night. _Did I sleep with him?_

"You have a very comfortable couch," he says seriously.

I squint my eyes, analyzing him. Wondering if he _can_ read my mind as I previously suspected.

"Do I even want to know what happened last night?"

He sighs and moves so he's facing me. _This can't be good._ "You were drugged."

"What? No I wasn't. I had too much to drink too fast, but I wasn't drugged." Then pieces of the night start coming together. The guy at the bar. The shots, the tumbler of vodka, dancing…hot sweaty dancing…the guy coming and punching the guy I was dancing with…Sam and then nothing.

"I saw you from the VIP booth," I try to refrain from rolling my eyes as Damon continues. "I was getting ready to come down and see you, when I saw the ass put a pill in your drink. I notified Sam to escort him out and call the authorities. And when I came back out, you were on the dance floor."

He didn't need to finish. _God,_ I wanted to crawl back under my covers and never resurface.

"And you punched him for me," I say flatly.

"I would've done more for you," he says seriously.

 _Done more? Like what?_ The thought gave me butterflies. "So you took me home, and put me to bed," I say, wincing at the mental picture.

"I had a doctor come and check you out. She said that you just needed plenty of fluids and it should work it's way out of your system."

He found a doctor who made house calls in the middle of the night? Must've cost a fortune. I'd have to pay him back. The money. Work. I had to get to the Lunch Box. "Thank you. For everything. I'll pay you back for the doctor," I say, getting up, placing the bottle of water on my bedside table and walking to my closet to get another Lunch Box shirt, underwear and jeans.

"No need, it happened in my bar, so I feel responsible," he says.

His bar? _Of course._ "You should really be more careful. You shouldn't have had so much to drink in the first place."

I scoff. He was the one that produced a mysterious glass of bourbon yesterday at the end of lunch service. Damon gives me a look, that look that tells me he knows I think he's being a hypocritical shit, and continues. "What were you doing at a club, anyways?"

"I was looking to forget, and it looks like I got that," I say, as I walk to the bathroom and shut the door.

When I get out of the shower, get dressed, pull my partially dried hair in a bun and head downstairs. I smell something delicious cooking, and realize how hungry I am. I walk into the kitchen and take my time gazing at Damon's fine backside as I sit in front of a place setting with utensils, a steaming mug of coffee and a glass of orange juice. "You didn't have to make breakfast. I should actually head to work," I say taking a sip the coffee.

"You need to eat, and we have time for a Sunday brunch," he says as he places an omelet in front of me. It's slightly crisp on one side, but from the amount of cheese oozing out of the sides, it doesn't seem like it will matter. Enough cheese can make anything taste good. Damon stands across the counter, watching in anticipation as I take my first bite. He looks cute standing in my kitchen in the blue and yellow shirt with a vintage Lunch Box logo. The omelet warms my stomach and I feel my head ache lifting. I give him a thumbs up as he plates himself another omelet.

"Does anyone else live with you?"

"My brother, but he's in art school at the moment, and sometimes Matt." Matt occasionally crashed here when he wasn't traveling with the great _Ronaldo-I'm-too-big-of-a-douche-to-have-a-last-name_ , trying to gain first hand photography experience, while holding Ronaldo's camera. Matt originally got into West Point, but dropped out because even though the "don't ask don't tell" policy was repealed, there was still underlying bigotry. Matt is probably one of the most sensitive, sincere and honest people I know, and even though he was kicking ass at West Point, he couldn't live that way, so he left to pursue his dream of becoming a photographer. Honestly, I've never seen him happier than when he's returned from an exotic shoot in New Zealand or Nepal.

Jacob stops mid bite, and his eyes narrow at me, penetrating me with his gaze. It has quite the effect, because I immediately feel like I did something wrong. "Who's Matt?"

"He's one of my best friends. I've known him since I was in the first grade. He's probably one of the most important people in my life."

"I see," Damon says as he takes another bite, his eyes downcast and his body stiffening at my words. _Oh, this was way too much fun._

I let my words sink in for another silence filled minute, then add, "He's also like a brother to me and extremely gay."

Damon visibly relaxes and shoots me a look of feigned anger. "You did that on purpose."

"Possibly," I shrug. "You've seen me passed out and in my underwear, I had to level the playing field somehow."

Damon smirks. "But I'm sure you were very gentlemanly undressing me last night," I add.

"Very," he says, raising an eyebrow. "And you have a very interesting collection of pajamas, Ms. Gilbert."

I silently pray he didn't see the adult sized Rainbow Brite onesie Matt got me as a joke for my birthday. If I'm being honest, it's extremely comfortable and I ended up buying him a matching Hello Kitty onesie. But it's not something I want someone who's made out with me in an alley to see. _Oh, I would very much like that to happen again._ I could feel my face flush at just the memory.

"What are you thinking about, Elena?"

"Oh, um, I was thinking about how I need to get to the Box," I take a final bite of my omelet, and hop off the stool. I quickly start cleaning up the mess, until Damon grabs my hand to stop me. A warmth starts to spread through me, and I wonder if there will ever be a time when he didn't have this affect on me.

"I've got this. Just sit on the stool and continue to look cute."

I obey, walking back to my seat. I watch him clean up and moving around my kitchen like he's lived here for months. He asks me about Matt and my brother, and I tell him about how my Uncle John got Jeremy a part time job doing graphic design for his company in Silicon Valley.

Damon turns around from putting the last dish in the dishwasher and says, "You have an uncle in Silicon Valley?"

"Yeah, my Dad's little brother. Uncle John may be kind of a dick, annoying and slightly sketchy, but he's built a name for himself up north, which is saying something with all the new tech start up companies appearing and disappearing every six months. He's been good to Jeremy. He used to be more involved in the restaurant until…." I pause, not wanting to finish what I almost said. We hadn't even been out on a date yet, I didn't feel like scaring Damon off so soon. Thankfully, Damon catches on and finishing wiping down the counters says, "Ready to go?"

"Yes. I'll meet you there, I'm going to take my bike. I have to stop by the mail box before I get to the restaurant. I haven't had time to go by in a few days."

"You don't have a car?" Damon asks incredulously.

"Nope," I simply reply.

"It's not safe for you to bike everywhere, especially on the PCH."

"I like riding my bike, and so far, I've been okay." Excluding the one time I was hit by a car who didn't see a stop sign, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

"No," he says, grabbing his keys. "You've been lucky. I'll take you and we'll stop by the mail box on the way. You can't bike to work."

Oh, and we were having such a nice morning, excluding the part where I found out I was drugged and had to be taken home and stripped. The thought makes me squirm and slightly pissed off. I hop off the stool and head towards the front door, slinging the messenger bag that was left in the front. "Try and stop me," I say.

Just as Damon starts to say something else, I open the door. "Where's my bike?" and then I immediately slap my forehead. "I left it on Main."

I spin around and practically run into him. He catches my shoulders mid spin and turns me to face him. His eyes are a pale blue this morning, and alight with humor. My stomach does flip-flops. "Don't fight me," he says, grazing my cheek and brushing his thumb on my lower lip.

I bow my head. Embarrassed. Damon kisses the top of my head, inhaling my hair, causing me to fall into his solid chest. He wraps his arms around me, and I realize it's our first real intimate moment together, and I wanted to stay like that for forever. "God, you smell good," he says.

I regretfully step out of his embrace, "I need to get going. I'm already late."

Damon sighs and follows me out, moving to the side as I lock my door. His Aston Martin is parked in my driveway, and Damon rushes to the passenger side door to open it for me. "It's such a pretty car," I say sliding into the leather seats. There's some serious high tech gadgets in the front, with a touch screen face and several buttons. The kid in me wants to press all of them to see what they do, but I restrain myself as Damon gets in.

"Did you just call James Bond's car _pretty_?" he says, putting on his sunglasses.

"Yes. James Bond needs to learn how to take a compliment."

This get's me a smile. "Where are we headed?"

I give Damon directions to the mail box, and he pulls out of my driveway. "So, why do you need a mailbox?"

"Because of where the Lunch Box is located, the postal service doesn't deliver that far out of their way. It's actually dangerous."

Damon gets silent for a moment, and I have no clue what he's thinking about. My number one theory is, _Why am I helping this sad and pathetic girl?_ My second theory is, _What did I get myself into?_

Damon pulls in front of the post office and parks, quickly getting out of the car to open the door for me. "I'll be right back," I say as I walk in.

I walk to my box and pull out my key, opening it. But it's stuck. I pull as hard as I can, and it finally opens, sending several letters with it. I pick up the letters, and grab the rest stuck in the box. I had to think back to the last time I checked the box. It usually wasn't a big deal if I checked the box once a week or so, because most of the billing was done online and I personally dealt with the local vendors.

I grab the stack of letters, lock the box, and walk over to a table on the opposite side of the room to filter through the mail. The letters are thick, and I can see pink slips in several of them. Bills. Bills from the electric company, gas company, water company, our wine and alcohol supplier, and then a large envelope from the IRS. I look out the window to see if Damon's ditched me, but he's sitting in the Aston on his phone. Morbid curiosity getting the better of me, I open the envelope. I scan the letter. _Fuck_. I was audited two months ago, and I owed back taxes. Evan. _Double fuck_. He went through an audit without notifying me.

My eyes scan down to how much I owe. $250,000, plus close to $10,000 in penalties. My eyes begin to well up. How was this possible? I'd always been good about paying. Deciding to get it over with, I open the rest of the bills. Evan hadn't paid the electric company in 2 months, meaning I owed close to four grand, and I had to pay the gas company even more. I was actually pleased to see that I didn't owe the water company as much as the others. And then there was an envelope from Orange County. _Shit_. Property taxes. I open the envelope, afraid to even look. I owed $25,000 in property taxes, meaning in total, I owed over $312,000. I'd already completely emptied my savings account. I looked at the letter from the IRS. Evan fucked me over.

There was something about this that didn't feel right. It felt personal. Who would randomly screw over a restaurant? There wasn't even that much money involved. Yes, $40,000 was a lot of money, but not enough to willingly sacrifice your entire career for. I'd already planned on reporting Evan to the Association of American Accountants. I needed to do some digging, but I had no clue where to start. I don't know the first thing about hacking, but I can google. I am an amazing googler.

I gather the letters, wipe my eyes and try to compose myself before I head back out to the car, deciding to deal with this once Damon's gone. I approach the car, and open the door. I was late to The Box, but thankfully I had thought to text Scotty and Ben, who gladly said they would open and get started. As I sit down, I wait for Damon to start the car, but he doesn't. He just looks at me. "Are you okay?"

No, I have effectively driven the business that has been in my family for over 70 years into the ground, but I don't plan on telling you that. "I'm fine, we have to get going."

"We aren't going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

"What's wrong is I'm late, because I decided to have a leisurely brunch with someone I hardly know," I hated saying it, but it was the only way I could think to get him off my back.

Damon turns his eyes to the road, and pulls out of the parking space. His anger is tangible, creating an awkward silence the entire way to the restaurant. When we arrive, Damon parks his car next to Scotty and Ben's Land Rover, with surf boards sticking out the back. Before I get out, I stop him, grabbing his arm. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said, but you don't have to do this. I'm sure you have a million other things to do. You can leave now, no questions asked. This is your out," I say, and if I were being honest with myself, I'd acknowledge the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that I wish he would leave. My life had just gotten severely complicated, I was in deep shit, and I was sitting next to a complication that I didn't need.

Damon takes my hand, and pulls off his sunglasses, really looking at me. Trying to figure out what I'm thinking. "We had a deal, remember? One that I proposed. I'm not going anywhere."

I can't help but smile. "Okay, but if you get tired during service, just let me know, I have a couch downstairs if you need a nap."

Damon looks at me suggestively, "You have a couch downstairs? Sounds promising."


	4. Chapter 4: As Before I Went Under

Author's note: Once again, thank you so much for the support and for reading my fic. I'm glad people are enjoying it, because it's been fun to write. In this chapter, Elena continues to be pushed due to circumstances both beyond her control, and completely within her control. Elena is human. She's in her early 20s and is holding on by a thread. Hope you enjoy the chapter xD

Chapter 4: As Before I Went Under

I bite my lip and shrug. I lead Damon to the back door, and open it. Scotty and Ben walk from the kitchen to greet me, but pause when they see Damon. "Scotty, Ben, this is Damon Salvatore. He's going to be working with us for the day. Damon, this is Scotty and Ben Covington," they walk to each other and shake hands. I cringe when Scotty notices Damon's Rolex and says, "Nice watch."

Damon self consciously touches his watch, and I stifle a laugh. He's completely out of his element. I attempt to distract Scotty and Ben from making another comment about Damon's designer jeans or shoes. God forbid they see his car. "So, did you guys start the doughs and roast the chicken?"

It works, they turn their attention towards me, "Yeah Gilbert, the bread isn't as good as yours, but we followed your recipe. The chicken's cooling, and we pre chopped the vegetables for you."

"Thanks you guys. For today, why don't you go ahead and do the chicken salad, just don't forget to add a squeeze of lemon at the end with a splash of the chicken juice from the pan, and grate half a Maui onion into the salad," I explain.

Damon looks over at me, impressed, but I shrug it off and add, "I'll be out front showing Damon the ropes, if you need anything."

For the next hour, I actually have a good time explaining everything to Damon. I practically fell over in a fit of giggles at his attempt to fold a napkin, which for some reason kept on coming out as a deformed triangle. We dust and clean together. I take every opportunity to check out his ass, and I feel his eyes on me as I clean the base of the chairs. I show him how to take an order and put together a bread basket.

Damon takes everything very seriously, which adds to the comedy of the whole thing. Plus, he ends up being surprisingly domestic, and at one point, I actually fear he's the health inspector in disguise. He washes windows like a pro, fixed a doorknob I didn't know needed to be fixed, and doesn't even scoff when I tell him he has to clean the men's room. Actually, to be quite honest, I was being mean to see how far I could push him. Brody usually cleans the men's room.

I'm about to show Damon where the drinks are, when Suz comes barreling in the front end, and stands frozen at the sight of Damon's perfect form. Damon's too busy cleaning non existent spots off silverware to notice Suz's entrance. She dramatically waves me over.

"Um, Damon? Could you water the plants on the patio? There's a pitcher and hose out there."

"On it, Boss," he says. The moment he found out it irritated me, he started calling me Boss whenever he had the chance. I give him the finger, which only makes him laugh as he goes to the patio.

I walk over to Suz, who immediately pulls me downstairs. "What the fuck, Suz?" I yell as we get to the bottom of the stairs.

She stares at me with a crazed look, which kind of scares me. "Do you know who _that_ is?"

I pause, confused. "Damon Salvatore, remember? He was in yesterday."

"No, that's _The Damon Salvatore_."

"Explanation please."

"I knew he looked familiar yesterday, so I googled his name," I immediately rolled my eyes. Suz was a notorious snooper and thought _google_ was invented by a mythical witch.

"What do you think he does for a living, Elena?"

"He owns a couple of hotels," I pause. "Oh, and a club on Main. Why?" I already knew he was wealthier than most people, but I didn't see it as a big deal, or as big of a deal that Suz was making it.

Suz glares at me, takes her phone from her pocket and pulls up a picture. It's a picture of Damon on the cover of Men's Heath, shirtless, just wearing running shorts and shoes, standing as if he commanded the world on top of a mountain, with the caption, "Staying on Top of Your Game" and then underneath it, "How one of the ten wealthiest men under thirty stays in shape". _Fuck_. I'm going to be sick. What's he doing here? With me? Volunteering to work for me in exchange for a date? I brace myself, putting my hands on my knees.

"Yeah, and that's not all. Damon Salvatore is CEO and founder of Salvatore Investments. Pen, he owns a whole studio in LA. He owns a television network, magazines, buildings in Century City, Los Angeles, New York, San Francisco, Miami, Chicago, London and Soeul. He has properties all over the world, and I read one article about how some political party wants him to run for office, but he's refused. He's dated actresses, supermodels, and daughter's of dignitaries. There's even a rumor that he once dated Kate Middleton while she and Prince William were separated. "

Oh god. " _Stop!_ " I plead. "He volunteered to help out today."

"Why?" she says. "He'll get mobbed if he's recognized."

I actually straighten, feeling better about the whole situation and thinking back to my realization earlier. "He's out of his element here, meaning it's Newport. People won't think he'd work here in his spare time, and locals don't care about that sort of thing."

Suz nods, "You're probably right."

"Look, just be nice. Scotty and Ben are already giving him a hard time. Try to treat him like you treat Brody and I'll try to get him out of here early."

"But I treat Brody like shit."

"And no pictures. _Do not_ tweet this, Suz," I finally say. Suz sighs, and I knew my suspicions were right.

"Come on, just one selfie?"

"No! Or I'll fire you. Seriously," I say, but Suz only laughs knowing my threat had no weight.

When we walk upstairs and back to the front of the house, I realize that I didn't need to worry about Suz talking to him too much, because she's suddenly shy. She completely avoids him, to the point where Damon asks me if anything is wrong. I decide to be honest with him.

"She showed me a picture of you on the cover of Men's Health."

Damon sucks in air. He was obviously hoping he wouldn't get googled. "And?"

Surprisingly, I detected a hint of insecurity. Or was it worry? "You looked incredibly hot, but it was a cheesy as hell photo, and the caption didn't help," I shrug, pulling out the keys to unlock the door, but as I walk away, Damon grabs my arm and pulls me into an embrace. Holding me so close, I could feel his heart racing. He looks down at me and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips, tender and slow, and then dramatically dips me like something from a movie and gives me a deep lingering kiss that sends a pulse of desire through my body. He nips a little on my lip as he pulls away, and then guides me to my feet.

"Whoa, that was…." I mutter, wishing I didn't have to open the door.

"Cheesy?" he says with a boyish grin.

I smirk, and turn to walk to the door for opening.

Lunch service is relatively slow, when we'd usually be hopping on a Sunday. Even so, Damon is hustling, getting drink orders, delivering bread baskets, and helping bus tables. Scotty and Ben mess with him, like not giving Damon the table number for an order he has to run, or telling him the chicken salad sandwich, is a tuna sandwich, which doesn't even exist on our menu, but when they see how hard he's working, they lay off of him. I honestly think they had a bet going to see how long he'd last. I slowly start having Damon take food orders, which I immediately regret, even though the mischievous five year old in me is grinning like an idiot.

It's clear that he doesn't like taking orders from other people. They ask him for dressing on the side, sandwiches to be made gluten free, flag him over to their table only to make him stand there while they think about what they want, they ask him for recommendations, and then don't listen to them. He sees how much people tip, and is disgusted. I had to stop him from going after a table for stiffing him. He obviously isn't upset about the money, it's the principle of the matter that pisses him off. "How do you do this every day?" he says, after I pull him off to the side to calm him down.

I wave him off. "You get used to it. Most people are nice. You can't let the few bad customers, take away from the customers that are just happy to be here."

He looks at me questioningly, "You're full of surprises Boss."

Random. "Look, why don't you just focus on bussing tables and running orders," I say.

"Am I being demoted?"

"Yes," I reply, smiling. Just then I feel my phone vibrate again. It's been going off repeatedly throughout lunch service, and I haven't had the time to look at it. I pull it out to quickly look at it before I have to get back to my tables. Tyler's been trying to call, and sent me several text messages, which is what I get for not changing my number since I got my first cell in high school. _God, doesn't he understand I have a job?_

Tyler: I need to see you.

Tyler: Elena, quit avoiding me.

Tyler: Gilbert….

Tyler: This is important.

Tyler: Where are you?

 _Oh my god! What is his deal?_ I did need to talk to him and see if I could get a heads up on why his Dad wants to meet with me. I could ignore him, which is what I really want to do, or I could risk it and see what he knows….

I'm in the middle of a thought, when I realize Damon is still standing there. "Who suddenly put you in such a mood?"

I immediately slip the phone in my pocket. I'd have to text Tyler back when Damon takes care of a table. "No one important," I say, and then add, "Are you okay still working? You can leave, if you want. You've certainly put in your time."

"Nice try," he says. "We have plans at 8:00 tonight, and I don't want to give you any excuse to cancel, not that you canceling would stop me."

I roll my eyes. "In that case, the tables on the patio need more water."

Smirking, Damon picks up a pitcher full of water with a slice of lemon in it, and heads out to the patio. The moment he turns around, I send Tyler a text message.

Me: You know I'm working. What's up?

I slip the phone back in my pocket, but it vibrates again.

Tyler: I need to talk to you. Can you meet me in our old spot at 6:00?

The rocks at Crystal Cove. Tyler would take me there after practices to watch the sun set and make out. Why would he want me to meet him there? I mean, it could't hurt to see what he knows. It was a six mile bike ride, which wouldn't be a problem, except there's no way I'd get back in time, and I didn't think Damon would be too happy to know that Tyler wanted to meet me at my old make out spot. I'd have to Uber over to the beach.

Me: Fine. I'll see you then.

Tyler: Looking forward to it.

I slipped the phone back in my pocket when a familiar face walks into the restaurant. Emma Lee walks in and the moment she sees me, she squeals and runs over to give me a big hug. "Elena! It's so good to see you. I would've been in sooner, but I just got back and I'm still jet lagged."

I laughed, pulling away from her hug. "Forty Five minute flights can do that," I joke.

"I brought you something from your favorite shop!" She hands me a Neiman Marcus bag, but inside it is a bottle of Corison Cabernet Sauvignon from Napa. "Don't go reselling that to a customer, Elena Gilbert. I went all the way to the Arlequin Wine Merchant to buy that, and I had to suffer through several wine tastings before I found you the perfect bottle."

I smile, immediately thinking of what I could make to accompany the bottle. This was not the type of wine to have with gummy bears. "I love it, thank you. How are your parents?"

"Exhausting. They still live in that tiny duplex at the top of Filbert Street. Such a pain in the ass to park on." When Emma went to USC, her parents moved back to their home in San Francisco. When she gets time off, she visits them for weeks at a time. She acts irritated when she has to visit them, but I know she loves seeing them and her extended family. Plus, it gives her a break from her job, which is consistently up and down. Emma is one of the best real estate agents in Orange County, and has made a name for herself using social media to promote the houses she had on market, and herself.

"How's the real estate business these days?" I ask.

"Booming. The market in Newport is hot right now," she pauses, looking over my shoulder, "Whose that? Maybe I will stay and eat."

I turned to see who she was looking at, and see Damon striding over. "That would be Damon Salvatore."

Emma immediately straitens and runs her fingers through her long raven hair. Emma was breathtaking, with dark almond shaped eyes and amber skin. She was a senior cross country runner, when I was a freshmen and still ran regularly. Damon wraps an arm around my waist, taking the bottle of wine and looking at it. "This is good wine," he says, as I move his arm away from my back, and sidestep away from him. He may have kissed me, but this is not going further than the very short date tonight.

Emma just stares at me and then back at Damon and then back at me, looking at me for an explanation. "Damon Salvatore, this is my good friend Emma Lee."

Damon reaches out to shake Emma's hand, and I swear to god, Emma melts. This is becoming a pattern with Damon and women. No wonder he's so successful in business. "It's nice to meet another friend of Elena's," Damon says.

Emma just stands there, and then seeming to get ahold of herself, she says, "Likewise."

"He's not my friend," I say, before I can help myself. Damon steps back looking surprised. Emma stifles a laugh.

"Emma just brought that back from San Francisco," I add, to cut awkward tension.

"Really? Business or _pleasure_?"

I audibly sigh. "Neither," Emma says, grinning.

Damon smirks back, which causes me to roll my eyes. "Whenever I'm in San Francisco, I have to visit Alcatraz. I think I've been to the prison at least twenty times."

"Shocking," I state sarcastically.

Emma ignores me, because I know her and I know where this conversation is going. "Oh my God, me too. I'm so mad they did away with the guard tours, it's all on audio devises now."

"I could get you a private tour," Damon adds.

I groan, starting to feel irritated and somewhat out of place, so I excuse myself to put away the wine. After putting the wine away downstairs, I go into the kitchen to see Ben and Scotty. They look up at me while plating an order. "Let's call it a day. Customers are dwindling and starting to leave."

"Sure thing, Gilbert," says Scotty.

"I know I usually let you guys go early on a Sunday, but if you guys can help Brody finish up the dishes, I'm going to help Damon and Suz finish up the front," I explain.

"Of course," replies Ben, then he walks over to me, and drapes both arms over my shoulders, boxing me in. Ben looks me squarely in the eyes, and I know what he's going to say.

"I don't like him," he says seriously. I nod biting my lip, and he pulls me into a hug. "You deserve better," he says into my hair.

"This is why I don't bring any of my many suitors to the restaurant," I reply, earning me a smirk from Ben.

When I run the last order out to a table on the patio, I still see Emma and Damon talking, except they're speaking to each other in fluent french. Great. How the fuck did their conversation go from geeking out over Alcatraz to foreign languages? What's worse is they look stunning together and unlike Barbie from the day before, I adored Emma. She's cultured and refined. The thing is, I wasn't jealous of Emma at all, it was more of a reflection of who I wasn't.

Emma spots me as I'm walking back from the patio and waves me over. "There you are! You disappeared."

"Not really, I was just in the kitchen," I say, hoping it didn't come off as snippy as it sounded.

Damon turns and looks at me questioningly, then deciding something, he turns back to Emma and says, "It was nice meeting you Emma, thank you for the enlightening conversation," and smirking at me, he walks away.

"Walk me out to my car?" Emma says. I nod and follow her out.

Once we're outside, I can't help but ask, "What did you and Damon talk about?"

Emma looks at me with the same eyes as Ben when we were in the kitchen, "You, Elena. He asked about you. Once you left, he asked if you'd ever been to Alcatraz, and I said that you don't travel much, and then the conversation drifted to what you were like in high school, to the fact that you want to go on famous runs throughout France and the rest of Europe."

This surprises me. "He seems to really like you, Elena."

I shrug off her comment. "He's just bored, Emma. He's in town to check on his hotel, or whatever and soon, he'll be gone and I'll never see him again." Then seeing her reaction, I add, "It's fine. Really."

"I think your wrong Elena. When we were talking, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He was going to go into the kitchen and get you when you slipped away, but I stopped him, guessing you were just talking to Ben and Scotty."

I sigh, deciding to let the argument go. It was pointless to try to explain whatever Damon and I were. I couldn't even explain it, instead I give her a hug and promise to go to lunch soon.

I walk back in the restaurant and do a final sweep of the place, checking on our remaining tables and I start closing out the register and creating envelopes of the weeks tips for everyone. Damon has already started the list of closing duties and Suz is finishing up taking care of the last tables.

Once everyone has left, I hand Suz her envelope. "Don't spend it all in one place!" I joke.

"Have fun with your billionaire," she says, smirking as she leaves.

The thought makes my stomach lurch. I needed to get home and get ready so I could see Tyler before Damon picks me up. Maybe Damon won't want to take me out anymore? He could be too tired. God, I wish I could talk to Caroline, but she was in another time zone. Actually, I could predict Caroline's advice. She'd tell me to go to a spa for the afternoon and ditch Tyler. I sigh, missing her.

"Always lost in thought," Damon says from behind me.

I turn around, and the look he has in his eyes causes my cheeks to flush. I look down, to hide my face, and give Damon the envelope I made for him. "We're done for the day. Here's your share of today's tips."

He doesn't take the envelope. "I don't need the money."

This irritates me on a level I don't know he could understand, so I try a different tactic. "I don't want you to think you're getting _anything_ in exchange for working today, except for what I would give anyone who helped out."

" _Anything?_ I thought we had a deal. A date in exchange for me helping you out for the day."

Jesus, was he messing with me or could he really not tell that I was trying to say that I didn't want to feel like a paid escort. Damon leans in, giving me that look he always gives me when he knows more than he's letting on. "Ready to go?" he says.

"Go? Now? I thought we were leaving at 8:00."

"I was talking about getting you home."

 _Oh, shit_. My bike was still at the club. As if reading my thoughts he said, "I had someone deliver your bike to your house."

 _Thoughtful_. "I can walk. The cottage is just a couple miles away."

"I'm taking you. I can wait if you need to finish up."

I decide not to argue, "I'm ready. I just need to grab my things."

I quickly grab my bag from downstairs and lock the door to the office. Meeting Damon upstairs, he kindly take my messenger bag as I turn out all the lights, and lock up. We walk out to the car and leave. I'm quiet in the car, as Damon plays Beck. "I love this song," I say as _Unforgiven_ comes on.

Damon smiles, "Why does that not surprise me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't seem like the type of person that forgives easily."

"The song is about loving someone so much, you'll wait for their forgiveness. It's about hope, not the refusal of forgiveness."

Damon pulls into the driveway of the cottage and looks at me. "And do you believe there are people worth waiting for?" he says.

I suddenly feel like this conversation is about more than just the song. I look at him questioningly, "Yes, I do."

We're both quiet for a moment, processing the weight of the few sentences that were spoken. My heart races, and I have the immediate urge to leave the car and get some air. "Thank you for your help today," I say, breaking the silence. Damon casually grabs one of my hands, playing with my fingers, causing me to squirm in my seat.

"Let's go right now. I can change our plans around," and then kissing my knuckles, he adds, "I don't want to let you out of my sight."

I look down, completely flushed, unsure of what to say. I want to go with him now, every fiber of my being wants to stay in the car, but I also need to see Tyler so I wasn't caught off guard at the meeting tomorrow. I take a deep breath, knowing what I have to say, "We had a deal, remember? A date. 8:00."

He sighs, letting go of my hand, "I'll see you at 8:00," he says as I leave the car.

Once he pulls away, I rush inside. I had an hour until I had to meet Tyler. I quickly shower, but take my time shaving and make sure everything is properly landscaped. Once out of the shower, I blow out my long brown hair and decide to stick with my usual natural going out look that Caroline hates, a shimmery almost nude eye shadow, a little eye liner to make my eyes pop, and I toss a pale pink lip gloss my bag.

I walk over to the boxes Caroline sent me and lay out two outfits. A simple black v-neck t-shirt from All Saints, eyelet black shorts with flip flops for Tyler, and a Rebecca Taylor sleeveless silk blue paisley dress with a deep notched v-front and metallic silver heals, to change into when I got back from Crystal Cove. Something I would never wear or pick out, if Caroline wasn't my best friend. She was already going to kill me for not telling her about all the drama currently in my life.

Underwear was an issue. If I chose lingerie, it means I think something will happen, which according to Damon's every sexual innuendo, was going to happen. But choosing lingerie would mean I let it happen. _Shit_. I am in completely unfamiliar territory, and contemplate calling Emma. I ponder the situation for a few minutes, and decide on a compromise, a deep plum lace demi bra and matching lace boy shorts. I also organize one of the over the shoulder purses Caroline sent me with additional chapstick and money.

I get dressed in my outfit for Tyler, do one more quick make up and hair check and send for an Uber. Knowing I'll be right back, and not wanting to damage my purse on the hike to our spot, I just bring my phone and keys. Once my Uber arrives, I lock up the house, and leave. I give him directions to the spot on Crystal Cove. I'll have to walk a little, but I should be close enough. I look out the window, and silently pray that my meeting with Tyler will be brief, once again unsure of why I was going.

We arrive at an almost empty parking lot. The driver pulls up next to Tyler's Land Rover, and I thank him before getting out and walk down a path that slowly starts to be covered completely in sand, until I reach the point where I veer off and walk to our spot. After cutting through a couple of oak trees, and keeping the ocean on my left side, like I remembered, I see the rock, and I immediately want to turn around and run back to the parking lot. Tyler is there in a suit, and I can make out a bottle of champagne and a basket. _Fuck. What was he thinking?_

I approach the rock, and when Tyler sees me, he waves. "Elena!" he calls, as if I can't see him.

I smile and approach the rock. Tyler gives me an awkward hug, "You look beautiful."

"I feel a little undressed. I thought you just wanted to talk." _Like why you are suddenly visiting me like we're still on the high school cross country team, and why your father manipulated me into a meeting._

"We are," he pauses, pouring me champagne in a glass flute. "About us."

I look at the display he created. There's a checkered blanket spread out on the rock, with a picnic basket. The sun is slowly going down, and under any regular circumstance this whole scene might be considered romantic. At the moment, it just angered me. "About us? There never was an 'us'," I say and then down the champagne in one shot.

I check my phone to see the time, but there's just a sign that says no signal. Fuck, this was a mistake. I roll my eyes, but Tyler doesn't catch on to my mood. He walks closer to me, closing the gap I was trying to keep between us. "Come on Elena, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," and then running his fingers along the hem of my eyelet shorts, he adds into my ear, "I've always liked you in shorts. You have great legs."

Irritated, I try to push him away. It doesn't do anything, but he takes the hint and backs off. "I'm sorry," he says. "Let's start over. I do want to talk to you, actually I want to apologize."

I take the bottle of champagne, pour myself a generous glass, down half of it, and sit on a corner of the large walk. Tyler just stares at me. "Well," I say. "Fucking apologize. I want to hear this."

He doesn't look at me. Instead, he focuses all of his attention on a wild flower growing between the rocks. "I shouldn't have left you when you told me about Jenna being diagnosed with cancer. I should've stayed and helped you deal with everything going on."

I finish my glass. He didn't get it. Not at all. "I'm not mad at you because you left, Tyler. You had every right to go to Stanford, hell, I wanted to go. It's not like we were exclusive. I'm not an idiot. I was using you after my parents died, just as much as you used me to take care of your dick." I hop off the rock, and walk towards Tyler, who looks slightly scared.

"I'm mad, because I wanted to meet on this rock and tell someone who I knew wouldn't feel sorry for me, or wouldn't try to politely suggest some new diet plan to put Jenna on that would miraculously cure the disease spreading through her body. I just wanted to tell someone who I thought cared about me, _as a friend_ , that my Aunt, one of my last remaining family members, was probably going to die, and you got mad because I didn't want to fool around, then walked off and ignored me for the next five years."

I place my hands on my hips, waiting for him to say something, anything. "Your phone," he says after a few moments of silence, pointing to the ground.

"Goddammit!" I yell. In my anger to get up, my phone fell off the rock and cracked. My life officially sucked. I bend down to pick it up and try to turn it on. It's dead. Much like my life, my cell refuses to work properly.

I turn and look at Tyler, who seems confused. "Just go," I say.

He starts to explain again. "You were sitting on this rock, crying, wearing that purple bikini I like. I think you'd just spent the day at the beach with Caroline and Matt. When you told me, I didn't know how to respond, so I left."

I turn and look at him, tears streaming down my face. "No, when I said I didn't want to make out with you, you left. You didn't hear the rest of what I was saying. Just go Tyler."

"Elena…"

"Go!" I yell, not wanting to look at him for another second. Not wanting to see plastic sympathy. Tyler nods and leaves. Once he's gone, I sit on the rock, with the remaining contents of the bottle of champagne, unable to move except for the occasional swigs of liquid, letting the sounds of the ocean sooth me. I decide to give up on the evening, because my phone is non functioning, and I cannot function in the same room as Damon right now. I needed to concentrate and figure things out.

Before the sun drops completely over the horizon, I decide to clean up the mess and start the walk home. I look in the picnic basket and see a box of chocolate covered strawberries, and tucked safely in the corner, condoms. I'll never be able to have chocolate covered strawberries again. I stuff the checked table cloth in the basket along with the empty bottle of champagne, and carrying it, start to walk back to the highway.

I take the path back to the parking lot, struggling to hold onto the heavy picnic basket, when it slightly slips out of my hand, and in an attempt to catch it before it completely fell, spilling contents everywhere, I trip on a root and fall into a bush. Lying in the bush, with the contents of the basket in tact at my feet, I laugh, looking up at the sky, feeling slightly mad. "This is what I get, huh?" I yell at the emerging stars. "You're punishing me, because I am a monster that destroys everything in her path. EVERYONE IN HER PATH."

I allow myself to lay in the bush, staring at the darkening Newport sky for ten seconds, before I make my self get up and move forward.

XXXXXXX

I lost one my shoes. When I fell, it flew off and I couldn't find it in the dark, so I stuffed the other flip flop in the picnic basket with the remnants of the evening. When I make it to the parking lot, Tyler's car is gone, leaving the lot completely empty. I find a trash can and stuff the picnic basket in. Holding my keys, I start my journey home, knowing Damon is probably pissed and long gone.

I walk for a couple of miles. I shiver in the night air, while thinking about the day, cursing myself for going when my gut told me not to. The asphalt is cool under my feet, and I start to have a hard time seeing. I focus on the white lines in the road and the sound of waves crashing. The night from five years ago replays over and over in my head, like the events of tonight provoked a sort of memory seizure. Tears pool in my eyes, and slide down my cheeks. I hated crying, and it seemed like lately I spend most of my time trying to stop liquid emotions from spilling out of my sockets.

I stop walking and move to the side of the road when a car drives by. The headlights blind me as the car approaches and pulls over. The driver gets out of the car, and approaches me. "Elena? What the hell happened to you?"

I am unable to speak, as the tears continue to flow. I look down and realize I forgot that my shirt had been ripped from falling in the bush. I self consciously try to close the gap with my hands. Damon wraps me in his arms, and I rest my head on his shoulder as he easily lifts me up and carries me to his car. I almost don't want him to let go, and I absentmindedly moan when he releases me from the comfort of his arms to place me in the passenger seat. Leaving me, he goes into the back of his car and pulls out a bottle of water, handing it to me as he climbs into the drivers seat. I take a sip and nod in gratitude. Damon waits for me to collect my thoughts, and gazes upon me with such intensity, I once again question his ability to read my thoughts, and pray that he does have that specific super power because I do not want to be badgered into repeating the events of the last three hours.

Without probing or saying anything, he starts the car, does a u-turn and leaves. We drive in silence for a while, and I realize he drove past the cottage. I start to say something, but decide against it, not wanting to argue. He occasionally glances over at me, probably to make sure I didn't jump out of the car, which starts to become a tempting option.

I continue to drink out of the water bottle, resting my head on the cool glass of the car window as I look out, trying to figure out where he's taking me. We pass familiar parts of downtown, until he takes a left past Fashion Island, and I know where he's taking me. We pull into a long driveway lined with palm trees, cherry blossoms, and perfectly manicured rose bushes. Damon pulls up under a lit archway for valet.

"Damon, I don't have shoes," I mutter.

"I noticed," he says with a concerned look on his face. He reaches back and pulls out a large pair of flip flops and hands me a navy blue Nike jacket. "Put these on. They're a little large, but we don't have to go far."

I put on his jacket and flip flops. The shoes look ridiculous on me, but they work. The jacket is warm and smells like him, a little sweaty but of laundry soap. "Come here," he says.

I turn towards him, he takes a clean white cloth and wipes the running mascara from under my eyes. He then takes his thumb and trails the path below my bottom lip, cleaning up my smeared lip gloss, runs a hand through my hair, pulling out a few leaves, reaches down to the bottom of the jacket, and zips it up. The act is incredibly intimate and tender, which makes me start to tear up again. He cups my face in his hands and whispers, "Hold on."


	5. Chapter 5: It's Peaceful In the Deep

Author's Note: Once again, thank you for the lovely reviews. I'm back at work this week, so I'll try to post daily, depending on my workload. Though this chapter isn't quite as long as anticipated, there is a lot that goes on and we get some answers as to where the story is going. For good reason, Elena is very hesitant to get close to anyone, but the number of people knowing exactly what she's going through, and that she trusts growing thinner and thinner. Let me know what you think! Enjoy :)

Chapter 5: And It's Peaceful in the Deep

 _Hold on_ …..The weight of his words is enough for me to compose myself. He gets out of the car, and even though the valet reaches for the handle of the door, he doesn't let him, instead opening the car door himself, and helps me out. He hands the keys to the night valet, tips him generously and walks me through the front doors of The Wave Hotel. _Still, can't believe I didn't put that one together after the club the other night._

The lobby has white marble flooring and beautiful potted orchids and hydrangeas. A massive chandelier made out of blown glass in different shades of blue hangs from the ceiling, giving the visitor a feeling of being in at an island paradise, as opposed to a southern California sea side town.

A few employees greet Damon on the way to the elevators. I awkwardly stand in front of the large gold doors, fiddling with the zipper on my jacket as we wait for the doors to open. When the elevator dings, I hold my breath, praying no one is on the other side. When an empty car opens, I breath a sigh of relief. We walk in and Damon punches the P, I'm assuming stands for penthouse. He tentatively looks over at me as we ascend the 12 stories.

My stomach is in knots. I'm completely out of my element, and I don't like it one bit. The doors open into a massive living room. The decor is all white with blue and grey accents. The marble floor is similar to the lobby's flooring, but has what looks like specks of silver in each tile. The balcony doors are open, and causing the white curtains to billow in sea air.

Damon motions me to the plush white couch and I sit as he leaves. I gaze out the window and realize he has his own infinity pool that overlooks the ocean. "Here," he says, handing me a crystal tumbler full of an amber liquid. "It'll help," he adds.

I sniff it before taking a drink. Bourbon. I sigh in appreciation as I take a tentative sip.

He sits across from me, waiting me out to see if I'll speak without being prompted, and I consider what might happen if I didn't tell him anything. Would he kick me out? Let it go? I had a feeling that the answer to both questions, was no. Could I trust him? To tell him about what happened with Tyler, would mean telling him about my business, and I wasn't sure how he'd react. I think back through the events since I met him.

He ran with me, protected me from falling, forced me to wear a tourist t-shirt, took care of me after I was drugged, spent the whole day working at the restaurant just for a date, and then when I don't show, he somehow finds me and rescues me off the side of the road. Other than his weird issues of control, I don't see many flaws, which makes me uneasy. As my my grandmother used to say, "Perfection is an illusion." Damon may have saved me from the side of the road, but he's hiding something. I take another sip of the bourbon, letting the liquid burn my throat before I talk.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't at the cottage. How did you find me?"

This one sentence causes him to look at me with uncertainty. "When you weren't at the cottage, I tried to get ahold of you, but I was sent directly to your voicemail. You weren't home or at the restaurant. So, I had a Abraham trace the last spot you had a signal, and it directed me to Crystal Cove."

I actually kind of figured as much, and I wasn't angry. I was barefoot, walking along a busy highway at night, his means, while rather invasive, prevented me from further pain. "Who's Abraham?"

Surprised, Damon visibly relaxes. "He's head of my security."

I casually look around to see if Abe is hiding behind a potted plant. "He's not here at the moment, Elena."

"I'm guessing if he's head of security, then you have a security team," I shrug, indicating I see no one.

"They're currently working elsewhere. When I'm in Newport, I usually don't need security."

"Where are you usually working?" I ask taking another sip, trying to distract from the inevitable conversation. Damon seems to notice what I'm doing, but chooses not to comment on it yet.

"I have an apartment in Century City, and work is close by."

I cock an eyebrow, "I highly doubt your apartment is just any old apartment. Top floor penthouse, with views of the city, and you own the building and the building you work in."

He grins, "Very nicely deduced. I'll take you there sometime."

I wasn't entirely sure he'd want to keep me around after I told him where I was before our date. Not to mention how incredibly idiotic I've been with the restaurant. Surely someone in business wouldn't want to associate with someone like me, among the many other reasons this would never work. Maybe I should just leave. Save him the trouble. I start to get up, ready to make my exit, when Damon stands up, it's the first time I notice what he's wearing. A crisp white dress shirt, with an open collar, tucked into silver grey slacks with a leather belt. He must've been wearing a suit, and I wonder for a moment where he was going to take me.

"Sit, Elena. No running, remember?"

I immediately sit down, and as I do Damon sits down too, in an adjacent white chair. Once he's certain I won't bolt, he polishes off his tumbler of bourbon and asks, "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to get the information out of you another way?"  
His words make me squirm, and a part of me wanted to see what he'd do to get the information out of me. I interlace my fingers, twisting them together, before I look up. When I see the severity in his eyes, I decide to polish off my bourbon as well, and say, "This may take a while."

"I have time, Elena. Start with why you were particularly snippy with me after you took an exceedingly long time retrieving mail."

"You noticed?"

"Your looked like somebody shot a polar bear," he deadpans. I let out breathy nervous laugh, and it comes out like a wheeze. Damon seems to straighten.

Honestly, I don't owe him an explanation. I could easily walk out that door and never look back, but I'm curious. I'm not an open person, as Caroline would tell anyone who's path I crossed, but it's been a long night, alcohol is now flowing through my veins, and the words come tumbling out before I can stop them. "Since I was eighteen, I've been doing accounting for the restaurant. A few months ago, my brother Jeremy suggested that I get an accountant so I could focus on other duties at the restaurant. He recommended an acquaintance in the Bay Area, Evan Ward," I pause.

I already feel so stupid. Taking my art school brother's advice on a business he hadn't really been involved in. "Continue Elena."

"Right, um… I recently found out that Evan's been embezzling money from the restaurant, he didn't pay bills, he didn't tell me we were going through an audit, and then disappeared. He essentially financially fucked me over," I pause again, letting the words sink in. Saying them out loud made it all seem real. I placed my palms on my knees, and braced myself for the next bit of information I had to tell Damon.

"Tyler's father, Richard Lockwood, is one of the founding families of Newport, along with my family and a few others. We all grew up in Newport together, and even though some leave to go to school or pursue careers, they tend to come back. That's how important the city is to them. We throw city wide events, and the Newport Preservation Society consists of mainly founding family members. Richard and my mom were close, but due to recent events, I've been handling the restaurant and haven't participated in many of the events, so Richard stopped coming around to hit the restaurant of a founding family for a donation or a presence at a benefit. He stopped by the restaurant the other day to set up a meeting with me," I take a deep break and focus heavily on the cover of a photography book of ocean life, before I say the next part of the story.

"If it was to ask for a donation or to use the restaurant space, he could've easily just asked me right there, or had his assistant contact me. I became uneasy, so today, when Tyler asked me to meet him at our old spot, on a rock overlooking the ocean in Crystal Cove. I agreed because I thought he might know what his father is up to," I pause and look up at Damon to see a pained expression on his face. This wasn't going well at all.

"What I planned on asking shouldn't have taken long, and I thought I'd be back before 8:00," I add, if it was any consolation.

When he doesn't say anything, I continue, "When I got there, it was clear that he had other things in mind, and um…" _this was more awkward than I thought it would be_ , "he wanted to get back together, even though we weren't technically ever a couple."

Damon stops me, "You were together? How together were you?"

 _Shit. I should've tried harder to leave that part out._ Damon sees my apprehension and sucks in air. "Tell me," he demands.

"How much?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"All of it. Tell me about you and Tyler."

God, the only person that knows about this is Caroline. Emma knows a couple of details, but my experience with Tyler isn't something I wanted getting around. I shift on the couch, and decide the best approach is to say everything and continue to focus on the cover of the photography book sitting on the coffee table. "I've known Tyler most of my life. We really started hanging out in high school, because we were both on the cross country team and he used to go to the restaurant after morning practices in the summer. We started fooling around. It wasn't a love connection, and God knows that I didn't want it to be, it was an outlet. Pure and simple. Then, I found out my Aunt Jenna, who was running the restaurant at the time, was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. At the time, I didn't want to tell Caroline, because she'd be almost as upset as I was, so I asked Tyler to meet at our spot. I didn't want to make out or fool around, I really just wanted to talk to someone. When I told him, he tried to make out with me."

Realizing how that sounded, I add, "I was able to push him away, but he stormed out, and then proceeded to completely ignore me, until recently."

Damon stands up, angry, and running his hands through his hair.

"What happened tonight?" he asks, gesturing to my lack of shoes and scrapes on my legs from the bush.

My eyes widen. "No, I mean, he tried to do this corny romantic date."

"Corny?" Damon mocks.

"Yes. Right out of a horrible 90's romantic comedy. Checked table cloth on a big rock, view of the ocean, picnic basket full of champagne, chocolate covered strawberries, a box of condoms and he was in a suit."

"He actually had condoms?"

"Yes. It was extremely presumptuous, and a tad insulting."

Damon pours himself another glass of bourbon and waves his hand for me to continue.

I decide to make it short. "Like I was saying, Tyler wanted to get back together, and that combined with the display before me, set me off, and I sort of blew up at him for the way he treated me senior year, and then told him to leave. When I got up off the rock to yell at him, I dropped my phone and it broke. Then because I thought it would be smart to walk on a trail, back to the highway in the dark, I couldn't see properly, tripped over a root and fell in a bush, loosing my shoe in the process. Then you showed up."

Damon gets up and tosses his glass of bourbon in the fireplace. He turns around, seething. "He left you upset and alone, without a phone on a hiking trail. He puts his hand on his forehead in an effort to calm himself.

"Damon, I told him to leave."

"I don't fucking care that you _told_ him to leave. He shouldn't have left you," then, deciding something, he gets. "I'm going to kill him."

I panic. Damon wouldn't kill him, would he?

Without a word, Damon grabs his jacket and keys off of the counter in the kitchen and starts to leave. _Fuck!_ I leap up and run to the door, barely making it before he does, and block it with my whole body.

"No, Damon. I can't let you do this."

He stands there, waiting for me to move, but I don't budge. "Move Elena. You can't stop me."

"He's not worth it. I'm fine," I unzip the jacket I was still wearing and throw it on the floor. "See?" I say, pointing to my body. Damon grabs my arm, turning me to the side. I feel his fingers on the back of my arm. Then, seeing something, he lifts the back of my shirt.

"Your bruised," he says, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the kitchen. I squeal as he he places me on a barstool, and grabs an ice pack out of the freezer and a first aid kit from the cupboard.

"What?" I was so angry, I must have not noticed. I did loose a shoe from that one fall.

Damon wraps one ice pack around my arm with an ace bandage, and hands me the other to hold on my back. He takes out an antiseptic wipe and gets on his knees, and starts cleaning my scrapes. He's gentle as sweetly blows on the cut after smearing on the ointment. Must be something his mother did for him, and he never broke the habit. Or he's slightly superstitious.

I think about a proper way to phrase what I'm about to ask, without seeming too presumptuous. "Damon, don't go after Tyler. He's not worth it."

Damon gets up, level with my face. "Elena, I will not allow him to get away with this," he looks me in the eyes, and I see fear there. Something dark has come to the surface that he's trying to stifle. Brushing hair out of my face, he cups my cheek. "I don't know what I would have done if anything happened to you."

My brows furrow. "I don't understand," I mutter.

Damon takes his thumb and grazes it over my lower lip, the simple touch causes tingles of heat to flow through my body. It's like his touch awakens my body after a decade long sleep. His eyes shift to my body, and his hand touches the ripped part of my shirt, then seeing my wrapped arm, his eyes darken and he steps back. "I can help you," he says, walking away into a bedroom.

He comes back carrying a zipped up leather binder, but before opening it, he looks at me. "Are you hungry?"

I shake my head no, because food is the last thing that I want, but he gets out the phone out of his pocket and calls room service. "Yes, I'd like two bacon cheeseburgers with fries."

"Ranch dressing," I mouth.

"A side of ranch dressing, and two Newport Storms," he pauses. "Yes. The penthouse. Damon Salvatore."

Without even asking, he knew exactly what I wanted. I didn't want a steak or some fancy pasta dish. I wanted comfort food, and coming from this hotel, I know it'd still be gourmet. They probably serve the fries in one of those cone shaped silver fluted dishes that I've been dying to buy for the restaurant.

When he hangs up, he looks at me appraisingly. "Ms. Gilbert," he says. "I'd like to help you with The Lunch Box." He then unzips the leather binder and opens it up, pulling out a pen. It's his checkbook. "How much do you owe?"

My stomach drops, I did not want this. "No," I say.

"Excuse me?" He looks up in surprise.

"I don't want your money and I don't want your help," I start to take off the bandage holding the ice pack.

"You don't want me to kill Tyler, so I'm offering to help you with an equally large issue. I have the means to help you. Call it an investment."

When I finish taking off the ace bandage, I leave it on the counter and start to walk to the door. "Elena, where are you going?"

"It's you, Damon. You think you can just fix me. Give Elena the money so she can save her family's restaurant, then I won't feel so guilty when I fuck her and then ditch her. I don't want or _need_ your money. I don't want to be your charity project." I punch the elevator button and wait for the car. I can feel Damon behind me, but he doesn't stay anything, and I'm not sure if I want him to.

The doors open, and just as I'm about to walk in, Damon says, "Don't go."

I spin around, "Why? Why did you start running with me? Why did you insist on going on a date with me?"

"Because," he pauses, unable to speak.

I roll my eyes and walk into the car. "That's what I thought."

As the doors close, tears roll down my cheeks. I check my pocket for my keys, and breath a sigh of relief when I have them. I run my fingers through my hair and try to straighten my shirt before the elevator makes it to the lobby. When the doors open, I walk determinedly past the front desk, avoiding eye contact with the staff that saw us enter, and to the valet. A tall lanky teenager in a hotel polo shirt and kakis greets me.

"Good evening, Miss. Name and room number?" he says.

"Elena Gilbert, I'm actually not staying here, but I need a taxi," I reply.

"No way! _The_ Elena Gilbert? My older brother used to bus tables at The Box. You guys have killer fish tacos. My bro used to take home left overs when he'd get done with a shift."

"Fred?" I ask, smiling.

"Yup! That's my bro. Do you mind if we take a selfie? I gotta tweet this out. You're like, the shit."

Just as the valet is about to get out his phone, his manager comes by. "Excuse me, Ms. Gilbert. If you'll follow me."

"What? Why? I just need a taxi," I explain, not moving.

The manager politely stands there, waiting for me. The valet looking back and forth between both of us. "I was advised to escort you back to the lobby, and told under no circumstances am I to allow you to get into a taxi."

I fold my arms, as if to prove a point. Damon knows I don't have a phone, a jacket, or proper shoes. "Fine," I say. The manager takes a sigh of relief as he motions me to follow him, but instead I turn around. "I can walk."

I make it about a 100 feet before I feel myself being lifted up and thrown over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "Damon!" I scream. "Put me down!"

Damon is laughing, actually laughing as he carries me back to the hotel. We pass the valet, and I upside down wave to Fred's brother, as he takes a picture of Damon carrying me… _or is he recording it_ … "This is going to go viral, you know," I say.

Damon stops, and turns around while holding me. "Kenny, delete the video you just took."

I can't see what's going on from my view, but I assume Kenny doesn't want to lose his job. _Poor Kenny._ "Are you going to order everyone to delete the photos they're bound to take once you get to the lobby?"

Maybe if I reason with him, he'll put me down and I can bolt. "I don't really care if this ends up on the internet. It'll be worth it just to get you back to my room," he replies.

I sigh, "You can put me down. I'll walk with you the rest of the way."

"No," he simply replies.

"I'll scream!"

"You won't and you forget that I own the hotel. No one will do anything, unless I tell them to."

"Pompous ass," I reply.

"Maybe you'll learn that you can't run away from me."

I roll my eyes. I've never been more embarrassed in my entire life. Damon carries me through the lobby, and I try to hide my face. Luckily, it's late and Newport is technically still in the off season, so there are few people we pass. When we reach the elevator, I think he's going to put me down, but he doesn't, he continues to hold onto me until we get to the penthouse. Once the doors open to the penthouse, he walks me over to a table where it looks like dinner was set up, and sits me in dining room chair.

"Stay," he says as he opens the bottle of beer and pours it into a chilled glass. The moment he's filled it, I take a generous gulp, downing almost half the glass.

"Easy, Elena," he admonishes, as he pours himself a glass.

I give him the middle finger, as I take another generous sip. Damon laughs. He seems quite pleased with himself, which is incredibly annoying. "You dragged me back here, I might as well enjoy myself," I say bitterly.

He takes a long look at me, letting me know that I'm pushing my luck, which is ridiculous because he was the one that dragged me back here. "Eat, Elena."

I give in and take a bite of the massive burger in front of me. It is the most delicious thing I've every eaten, only causing me to be annoyed even further at the situation. I moan in satisfaction. I forgot how hungry I was. "Delicious," he says, then proceeds to take the pickles I tossed on the side of my plate, and eat them.

"You don't like pickles? What's wrong with you?" he chortles. I glare at him as I take another bite.

"Are you going to stop being mad at me?" he asks.

"Are you going to continue to try to control my life?" I reply.

"I like control, but I'm not trying to control your life."

I shrug, dipping a thick cut fry, stacked like Lincoln Logs…. _so cool…._ in ranch dressing and eating it. "You don't seem to have any other explanation as to why you've inserted yourself into my life."

Damon pauses, contemplating how to respond. He takes another sip of his beer. "When I saw you running, there was something about you, a fire and determination that I had to witness first hand," he pauses, looking down at his food. "So I had to follow you." He shrugs.

Hot unexpected pleasure pools my core. I feel my cheeks reddening at his small confession. His eyes flick up towards me, analyzing my every twitch. It's the same way he looked at me in the ally just a couple of days before. My heart starts racing and the moment is too intense, so I put my utensils down and walk back towards the entry way, retracing my footsteps from earlier. Damon follows, tentatively, "Are you leaving?"

I turn and look at him, searching the sea of his blue eyes, gaze upon his lips, tempting myself. "No," I whisper.

He rushes towards me and crashes into me, pressing me against the wall. His head hovers over me, our foreheads touching. I tilt my head up, wordlessly begging to let him make me forget. His brows furrow. "Can I kiss you?" he asks. I search his eyes, completely perplexed, because suddenly he's asking permission, as if he's about to perform a sacred act. I nod, slowly.

"Say it," he says gruffly, pressing his knee between my legs, grinding against my core.

A fire and need that I've never felt before blazes within me.

"Yes," I whisper.

Pinning me to the wall, he dives in and takes my mouth. I open mine to meet his as he dips his tongue into my mouth. His hands are in my hair, pulling me closer and leaning into me so we're practically molded together and one. With our need and ferocity, our teeth gnash and we easily develop a rhythm. His lips are velvet, so soft and inviting. I. can't. get. enough.

An angry sigh escapes me as Damon pulls away from my mouth and works his way to my neck. His hands go from my head, gliding down my back, to my hips as he grabs them, and lifts me up, causing me to hook my legs around his back. We stumble as we make our way to the bedroom, slamming into walls, while his hands are on my ass, carrying me from the wall to wall to the bedroom, the shoes he let me borrow falling to the floor along the way.

I giggle as he spins me and rests me on his plush white bed. He pauses, gazing at me, tracing my face with his fingers, memorizing the moment. He runs his fingers slowly along my neck, to my clavicle, and pauses above the spot where I ripped my shirt. I bite my lip, anticipation getting the better of me. "Are you okay with this?" he asks.

"Yes," I moan, pulling him down so he's closer to me. I kiss him forcefully, telling him I want this, I need this, with one kiss. He takes my cue, and finds the part of my ripped shirt and with both hands, he rips my shirt right down the middle, revealing my lace plumb demi bra. I laugh as his mouth is all over my torso, planting small butterfly like kisses from my clavicle to my belly button. The little bit of scruff on his chin savagely scratches my skin as he works his way down my body, causing me to arch my back in anticipation.

Then, the phone rings. Damon ignores it, continuing to lay kisses on my abdomen, while I run my hands through his hair, like I've wanted to every time I've looked at him. Then Damon lifts his head slightly, seeing one of the bruises on my hip, his gaze travels to the scrapes on my arm, and suddenly it's as if the temperature in the room dropped to below zero. The phone rings again. Abandoning the seam of my boy shorts, where Damon's mouth was last, he makes his apologies, kisses my forehead and leaves to get the phone.

He kissed my forehead. Not like he did earlier, when it was tender, but like he was brushing me off. My earlier irritation returns, and I get up, walk to Damon's closet and grab the first Armani shirt I can find, put it on, find the shoes that fell off earlier and pad into the kitchen, where he's making a phone call, his bare back to me, hand rubbing the back of his head. I catch fragments of sentences, like the _sale is happening_ and _it's better if we wait_. I assume he's talking to a business associate, but I don't care.

I leave. Damon doesn't come after me and Freddy easily gets me a cab in the middle of the night. When I get home, I crash into bed wearing everything I left the penthouse in, and fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Where You Cannot Breathe

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and for all of the reviews. I love reading everyone's thoughts and questions about what's going to happen to Elena and how she's going to survive. Elena has been a fun character to write because she's so much more layered than most people think. She's a little impulsive and reckless, but at the same time, she'd sacrifice it all for her family and can easily become consumed with guilt, to the point of it being debilitating. Elena's not perfect, and yet she's loved by those who have the fortune of coming in contact with her. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 6: Cathedral Where You Cannot Breathe

I'm staring at the ceiling. I have this antique Tiffany chandelier in my room. It's a kaleidoscope of bright blues, purples and dragonfly red stained glass. The part I love most about the chandelier, is the small missing piece of stained glass. My Dad and I were repainting my room from pink to a pale purple color that I was in love with in middle school. Everything was covered in plastic tarp, and we listened to a classic rock station as we painted. I was standing on a ladder painting the trim, when my foot slipped on a glob of paint that fell from my brush. My stomach lurched as I started to fall from the great hight. Seeing this happen, my father ran from across the room and caught me just as I was about to hit the ground. The force of the fall was so great, we tumbled to the floor, just as my ladder fell, knocking the chandelier on the way down, causing a piece of the stained glass to break.

My father was not a selfish man. As a doctor, he was continually looking out for his patients; giving patients who couldn't afford it free medical care, riding a bus for four hours to poorer parts of Mexico to donate his time and resources to those who didn't have access to proper health care, and trained doctors in the latest methods for family medicine. My Dad was the type of person who'd dive across a room to keep his daughter from being hurt, and he was the type of man who'd tell the paramedics who arrived on site to cut me out first, right before he passed out and died from internal injuries, still holding my mother's hand, even though she died on impact.

The colors of the chandelier dance on my ceiling, and I decide that it's time to get up and go running. I throw on a worn Aerosmith tee-shirt and black cropped Nike leggings. I lace my Asics, pull my hair into a bun and place a Dodgers baseball cap over my bun and low over my eyes. I decide to forego music today, because my brain is buzzing.

I pound the pavement knowing that I won't see Damon, and after a couple of miles in my thoughts are confirmed, because I haven't seen him. I don't know what happened last night. One minute we can't get enough of each other, and the next, he's distant and decides to take a business call. Maybe he was conflicted because of the events that evening…maybe I'm too inexperienced for him…. maybe he decided I wasn't worth it….maybe he realized I'm a mess and a screw up. The thing is, even though he's wealthy and been on the cover of magazines, I just liked that he seemed to be attune to me. But in the long run, he's doing me a favor. I cannot handle any more drama in my life, and I need to figure out what's going on with the finances of the restaurant because something is off.

This all started with Evan. Jeremy knew Even, so I have to figure out how to ask Jeremy about Evan, without Jeremy knowing about what happened. If Jeremy knew, he'd either leave art school to come back and help, or worse, he'd tell Uncle John. Plus, I don't want Jeremy to think that he is in any way connected the the downfall of our 70 year old business.

I run an extra loop today, running down Ocean Ave. to stop and watch surfers bob in the water before making a drop, and then up Magnolia and back to my cottage. When I arrive home, there's a package on my doorstep. It's a grey blue gift back with sparkly tissue. I open the card attached to the bag as I open my door.

 _See the pretty wrapping? This is a gift, not a hand out. -Damon-_

I roll my eyes as I open the bag. It's the latest iPhone. I take the bag with me as I walk into the kitchen, and place it on the counter as I grab myself a glass of water and place a handful of gummy bears on a paper towel. I carefully open the box and pull out the phone, I turn it on to see that it's already set up and there's already a passcode. On an off chance, I try my finger print. It doesn't work, but I have a feeling Damon's does. I start trying a variety of numbers. 1234 doesn't work. 0000 doesn't work. I try 9283, the numerical version of _Wave_ , the name of several businesses Damon owns. That doesn't work either. I sigh and think back on my time with Damon. Knowing him, the code will have meaning and be funny. Then it hits me. I punch in 0007, for James Bond, the nickname I gave him when he first came to the restaurant and I saw his car, with an extra zero. When my home screen pops up, I laugh.

I've missed ten phone calls from Tyler and several text messages asking me to call him. Tyler is either completely idiotic or hopeful that I was somehow able to get a phone so quickly. He saw it drop and crack. I sigh, deciding to ignore him and call Jeremy.

"Hey, Elena," he says groggily. I hear a female moan in the background. Gross.

"Jeremy, please either go in the hallway or kick your girlfriend out," I complain.

"Good morning to you too, Elena." I hear him get up and the door close as he walks out.

"How's the ceramics class going?" I ask. Jeremy likes charcoal and sketching, he has to take a number of classes outside his focus, and ceramics was the class he was avoiding until the last moment he had to take it.

"I managed to make a vase that looks more like a bong, but I think the professor appreciates the creativity, so I'm passing."

I laugh. "I'm sure you'll find uses for it once class is out," I pause. "Who's the girl?"

Jeremy sighs in a way that tells me he's smiling. "She's amazing. Her name is Anna and she's studying oil painting and she's so talented, Elena. She painted a portrait of her mother, and you can actually feel emotion just from looking at it."

"That's great, Jer. I can't wait to meet her."

"That's not going to happen."

"Come on, I'm your big sis. I swear I won't pull out the baby photo of you streaking butt naked through the restaurant during lunch service."

Jeremy groans. "Now you'll never meet her."

I smile into the phone. "I'm happy for you, Jer."

"How's The Box?" he asks, changing the subject.

I hate lying to Jeremy, but he doesn't need to know anything. "Great! Ben and Scotty say hi. Speaking of which, I was just wondering how you met Evan. You said that he was in your social circle while he was at Stanford?"

Jeremy pauses. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Dammit. "No, I was just curious, because I sort of hired him based off of your recommendation. I should've called you and asked this question months ago."

"Oh, okay," Jeremy takes a breath, as if he doesn't quite believe me. "I met him at a fraternity party I went to while I was working for Uncle John, last June. He said that he was interning while finishing his degree, and looking for work. Said he'd take anything for experience, pay wasn't an issue. He was moving south anyways, so I thought I'd put in a good word."

Pay wasn't an issue because he was just going to steal it. Ugh. "Thanks, Jer. I'll let you get back to your girlfriend….call more often, okay? I like to know you're alive and haven't been shot in an alley or something."

"Let's not be dramatic," Jer makes a dramatic sigh. "But I will," and then he hangs up.

After popping a couple of gummy bears in my mouth, I pull out my MacBook and open up my Facebook page. I'm friends with Jeremy, and he's sort of a camera whore and posts anything and everything, he's a lot like Caroline in that way. I'll never forget the time Caroline and I went to Disneyland and just had to take a selfie with every fucking character at the park, and then took a selfie of us while riding Splash Mountain, which I don't even think we're allowed to do, but of course Caroline came prepared with a waterproof case for her cell phone.

Jeremy likes to take selfies wile eating fruit loops with the hash tag #BreakfastOfChampions; he'll take a selfie with the guy who opened the door for him at the bank with the hash tag #chivalryisntdead. The worst photos come from when he's at a club or restaurant; pictures of the long line at the bathroom; pictures with girls he dances with; boys he dances with. Even though I might find the idea of taking so many pictures and posting them for all to see as a little invasive, I truly enjoy scrolling through his feed because it's just so Jeremy. That's who he is and I love him for it. So, I know that there'll be a picture of Jer with Evan at that party. Maybe it'll give me some clue as to who he really is or what he's up to.

I scroll through Jeremy's timeline until I get to his posts from last June. I see his pictures at a party in Mammoth and one of him in Napa, but nothing from the frat party at Stanford. I sit back and think. I scroll back through all the posts he made in June and July, concentrating on all the pictures, and then I see something he reposted. It's a video the frame is frozen on a guy doing a keg stand, the comment underneath says Frat Brothers for Life.

I click on the video and watch the back of some guy's body doing a long keg stand. The guys are all shouting for him to keep going, and counting the time. He goes for 99 seconds, and when he's done, he hops down and takes a hit off of someone's bong. Guys around him cheer his name, Even. Then, at the end of the video, Tyler Lockwood runs up and gives him a huge bro hug. Tyler Lockwood knew Evan Ward and by the looks of it, he knew him very well. I doubt it's a coincidence that Jeremy met Evan at a party Tyler most likely threw. I put my head in my hands out of complete and utter frustration. Tyler and Evan went to Stanford at the same time. I doubt it's a coincidence that Jeremy recommended Evan. My gullible little brother who both worshipped and detested the ground Tyler Lockwood walked on.

I needed to find Evan Ward. I have a feeling he won't stray too far from the aura that is Tyler Lockwood. I have to meet with Richard today, maybe that'll give me further insight to what the Lockwoods are up to.

I take a long hot shower and get ready. I have to look decent, so I decide to wear a white sleeveless silk dress, that's dip dyed in blue with rose gold gladiator sandals and matching cuff. I straighten my hair and pull it behind my shoulders so it cascades down my back. Caroline has amazing taste, I'll give her that. I grab my new phone, and place it in a white leather purse with a gold buckle.

After a very awkward car trip, I'm escorted into the Balboa Club by the driver. He looks like he's a part of the President's secret service. Dark shades, ear piece, cold demeanor, I felt like I was about to be interrogated. Maybe I was. I see Richard wearing a navy suit with a matching bow tie, and he stands up to greet me. He's stiff, and attempts to pull off an intimate hug and kiss on the cheek.

"Elena, you look lovely," he says, pulling out my chair so I could sit down.

"Thank you," I reply. I was horrible at small talk, and really just wanted to cut to the chase and find out why he wanted to meet with me, so I could get out of there.

I looked around the restaurant while he sat down. I'd never been to the Balboa Club, but it lived up to it's reputation. While The Lunch Box was casual and friendly, the Balboa Club was extremely formal and elegant, with polite servers dressed in crisp white shirts and long half aprons, white table cloths, and a center pieces of white roses and a votive candles. Ladies with Louis Vuitton purses, and Tory Burch clothing sit at nearby tables with bottles of wine and untouched plates. Business men sit in booths, on cell phones, having intense conversations. I immediately feel out of place, and have a strong desire to bolt.

"I went ahead and ordered, I hope you don't mind," he says, sitting down across from me. I actually do mind, because it's presumptuous and Richard doesn't know me, but the argument would be moot, so I just nod. A server comes by and pours Chardonnay, and I'm immensely grateful for any substance that will calm me down.

I take a large gulp, and say, "So, why did you want to meet with me?"

I know it's rude, and I can tell that it put Richard off, but I don't care. I had to figure out how I was going to come up with over a quarter of a million dollars and where Evan was hiding. I didn't really have time to have awkward conversations with anyone. I know that I'm not going to directly get information about his motives from the source.

Richard gazes at me, assessing me, and taking his time to respond. "You have your mother's spunk."

Why was he bringing up my mother? I don't know if it was the day that I'd had so far, or the amount of stress I was under, but I snapped. "What does my mother have anything to do with this meeting?"

He didn't even flinch. "Your mother has everything to do with this meeting. She was an amazing business woman. Elena, you have had to deal with a lot, for someone so young. Tyler told me that you've been stressed, and are concerned over whether or not you can handle the business, and he tells me business has been slow."

Tyler is full of shit. I'm guessing he's making it seem like we're close to get in good with Daddy, or he was just drawing broad conclusions over the two or three times we've interacted in the past few weeks. And then there was last night, something I don't think his father knew about.

"I don't know what Tyler's told you, especially after our conversation last night, but I've been handling the business perfectly fine," I reply, taking another sip of wine.

I see a slight break in Richards composure. A server walks over to our table and delivers bread. It's simple sour dough loaves with butter. The bread is warm, but I'm not hungry. Instead, I look at it with complete disinterest, and watch Richard straighten, and casually pull a piece and butter it with his knife. He considers me, and says. "I have it under good authority that you're having financial trouble."

My stomach drops. How could he possibly know this? My eyes search his face, trying to figure out his motive. "Your taxes are a matter of public record, Elena."

He made this meeting before I even knew about the taxes. What was he getting at?

I don't say anything, instead, I try to process the information. He knows too much, and all this has awkward timing.

Seeing the concern in my eyes, he moves forward, "Elena, I cared about your mother, and I feel like I owe it to her to help you out. She didn't want this life for you, or any of her children."

This was a shock. I don't ever remember my mother telling me about Richard. I sit back, still silent. The same server from earlier brings over two dishes. "Chilean Sea Bass with roasted potatoes, asparagus and a beurre blanc," the waiter says, placing the food in front of me. I hated sea bass, but decided not to say anything. I casually look out the window, at the view of the water while the waiter refills my wine and Richard starts eating. My mind felt fuzzy, and I felt trapped. I needed air. Desperately.

"You aren't eating your food," Richard says between bites.

I push my plate forward, crossing my utensils, and fold my arms. "So, why am I here? Why meet with me?"

"I want to help you," he says, taking another bite.

"I didn't ask for your help, Mr. Lockwood."

This causes him to pause. He puts down his utensils and leans over to grab something out of his brief case. He pulls out a white envelope, and hands it to me. "I would like to buy your restaurant. If you wanted, you could still stay on as manager, and I'd compensate you with a healthy salary."

I take the envelope, but don't open it. "What about my employees? Would you be willing to be just as generous to them?"

He smiles, as if I've already said yes. "Of course. It's your business."

I'm tempted to rip up the envelope right away, but instead, curiosity gets the better of me, and I start to open the envelope. I can feel Richard's eyes on me as I read the number. He's offering $350,000. It had never occurred to me to think about how much the restaurant was worth, but I knew enough about my family's business to know that this was an insult, not an offer.

"Take time to think about it," he says smoothly.

"I don't need time," I reply, but as I'm about to say my response, Richard looks up at something behind me with a look of complete distain.

"Richard Lockwood. I didn't realize you were interested in associating with small family businesses."

 _God fucking dammit_. How did Damon manage to insult me and cause my nipples to perk up at attention at the same time? I turn to look at him, and glare. He looks good, really good, in a charcoal grey suit and a blue paisley tie. He's freshly shaven, his lips look smooth and velvety. His hair is parted and styled, like the male lead in a 1940's screwball romantic comedy. The modern Cary Grant. He gazes at me, and with my back turned from Richard, I mouth, _what the fuck are you doing here?_

He just smirks, and I realize this wasn't an accident. Coming here, interrupting my meeting, angering Richard Lockwood. It seemed like nothing was an accident when it came to Damon Salvatore. Plus, I think he saw what Richard offered me. No wonder he called us a "small family business".

The color from Richard's face drains. I think he figured that Damon saw the paper too, but he does the polite thing and stands up and walks over to shake his hand. "My son told me you were in town," he says, while I awkwardly sit in my chair. I momentarily contemplate darting out of the restaurant. It would be easy to do while they were attempting small talk.

As I turn to see if it's safe to go, I see Damon makes slight eye contact with me and shakes his head "no". His order, only fuels my desire to go. I grab my purse, putting the pathetic offer in it, and snap it shut. I turn to see that Richard and Damon are still talking and stand up to leave, concentrating on the door and getting out. I make it to the door, and walk out, towards the valet, until I feel a hand on my wrist. The hand pulls me back inside, past the coat check, and into the women's bathroom, ignoring my protests.

"This is the women's bathroom!" as I speak, Damon frantically checks beneath the stalls and locks the door.

"You can't just pull me around by the wrist whenever I walk away, or throw me over your shoulder. I'm not five!" I yell, but it's pointless, he's doing that staring thing. Looking at me as if I'm candy and he's been off sugar for the last 6 years.

"You have to go back to that meeting, and tell Richard "no". Finish your meeting, Elena. Don't run away."

"Why do you care whether I say yes, or no? And how did you even know where to find me? Or what this meeting is about?"

I didn't think I've ever been this mad. Damon barging in here and telling me what to do. He stands in front of the door, blocking me from my exit. "Trust me, Elena. You cannot take that deal," he says it with such severity, it throws me off.

I squint and look into his eyes in an attempt to understand him. It doesn't work, instead, my eyes gaze at his neck, strong jaw, and his smooth bow lips, a little too long. Heat spreads through my body, and I immediately know my carnal desire is giving me away. I attempt to compose myself, reminding myself of why I'm angry at him. It's a safe topic to ponder. "You didn't answer my questions," I say.

Damon walks closer to me, forcing me to back up into a counter with 2 sink basins and flowers. "The appointment was on your phone, and I assumed the rest," and then getting dangerously close to my face, adds, "Is this why you left me last night? Because you had to meet with Richard Lockwood for lunch the next day?"

Shit, that was only part of the reason, but he knew. He also openly admitted to looking at my calendar. Was I that surprised? Not really, but still. Looking into his eyes, hoping my words will sink in, I say, "You know why I left, Damon. Those reasons have only intensified. Going into my phone, and then following me to this appointment? Either you get serious help, or I'm getting a restraining…"

The moment I'm about to say "order", he grabs my face and kisses me. Except it's more than a kiss, it's as if I'm air and he hasn't taken breath since I last saw him. All the tension I felt, all the anxiety is gone, and I just want to feel him, touch him, get caught up in him so I don't have to think. He's aggressive, taking my will power, forcing me to submit to him. His mouth moves to my neck, tasting me, licking the length of my neck. I moan as he lifts me, and I'm actually in the sink. My blood is pulsing and it's as if I can feel it pumping to my heart. My breathing quickens as he moves from my neck to my chest, one hand holding me around my back, and the other slowly working it's way up my dress, squeezing my thigh, causing me to yelp.

Suddenly there's a knock on the door. "Excuse me. I don't know what you are doing in there, but this is a ladies room and people are waiting to get in," a shrill voice calls from the other side of the door.

My mind wakes up, and even though Damon has completely ignored the person on the other side of the door, and is still working on my chest, I push him off. "Stop!" I say through clenched teeth.

Damon stumbles backward, as I hop off the counter, and try to compose myself. Fuck. It's like my body woke up from a long dry spell and is continually hungry. I needed to get back to Richard and finish this. I glance at Damon, and he wears a look of irritation. "This," I say pointing at the two of us. "Cannot happen. We don't work."

"Your body tells me otherwise," he says with a smirk, leaning over to clean my smeared lip gloss with his thumb.

I narrow my eyes at him, swatting his hand away. "I have a meeting to get back to. Don't follow me. Go work on building your empire or whatever you do," I say as I walk to the door, feeling oddly reenergized.

Damon moves, unlocking the door and letting me out. A receptionist with a severe bob, white shirt and tie, gives me a look of disapproval as I walk out. Damon follows behind me and gives the receptionist a polite smile, which causes her to shyly grin back. I roll my eyes as she walks into the bathroom, along with a few other patrons.

Once we're a few feet away from the bathroom, in the middle of the hallway, I turn around and place my palms on Damon's chest to stop him, immediately regretting it because touching him just makes me want take him in the nearest coat closet. "No. I'm going in there alone."

Damon looks at my hand on his chest and then back at me. I self consciously drop my hand. "This may not have occurred to you, but I'm meeting someone here shortly."

What? He just admitted to coming because he saw my calendar. "You do?" and then without being able to control the words that stumble out of my mouth, "With whom?"

Damon narrows the gap between us, brushing a lock of hair out of my face, towering over me. "Just a friend."

"You have friends?" I ask incredulously.

Damon smirks, "Is that so hard to believe?"

I smile, "I just haven't seen that side of you."

"What side?"

"The friendly side."

Damon moves closer, so I can feel his breath on my face. Spicy cinnamon. "I think you've seen me be very friendly."

His words catch my breath, my body clenches, and I know I have to get out of there. I push him out of the way to get distance and walk towards the dining room. "I have a meeting to finish. Have fun with your friend."

I walk out to the dining room, and back to the table. Richard is on his phone. As I walk up, and once he sees me, he gets off the phone and politely stands while I sit down. "I apologize, I had a lot to think about."

He nods, "It's a difficult decision to make."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Damon walk to the bar and sit down. Richard can't see him, but Damon's eyes are on me. Trying to ignore him, I refocus my attention to Richard. I take a sip of wine, place my hands in my lap, and look him directly in the eyes. "I'm going to have to decline your offer, Mr. Lockwood."

Richard was not expecting this. Usually so composed, he wears a look of pure irritation. "You can't afford to decline my offer, Ms. Gilbert. Would you rather the government shuts down your restaurant for tax evasion? You would be left with nothing. I'm offering you an opportunity to still have ownership over the restaurant, and be well compensated for it."

"Except I wouldn't actually own the restaurant, would I? You would," I say, my voice rising. "And I know for a fact that my mother wouldn't want me hand it over to someone I don't trust."

Richard sneers at me. Apparently I hit a nerve. "If you think teaming up with the likes of Damon Salvatore is the better option, you're sorely mistaken. He will ruin you, Elena."

Tyler must have told him. Shit. But he was wrong. " _I_ don't have to team up with anybody to hold onto _my_ business," I pause to let the words sink in. "Thank you for the enlightening conversation, Mr. Lockwood."

I get up to leave, but Richard grabs my arm to stop me. His hands are rough and cold. "You'll regret this Elena."

I yank his arm out of it's grasp, "I doubt that."

I walk away, and glance at Damon. His friend has arrived. A petite woman with curly long auburn hair, in a sleeveless navy shift dress and pointed red heals. She looks elegant and refined. Damon has his hands on her back as the hostess guides them to their table. I feel a pang in my chest, and direct my eyes to the exit. Once I make it outside, I see a man with flaming red hair approach me. "Ms. Gilbert, my name is Felix Ackerman, I'm Mr. Salvatore's driver. I'm instructed to take you home," he says in a thick Irish accent.

I was confused, and needed air. I needed to distance myself from Damon. "Thanks Felix, but I'm going to walk."

The Balboa Club overlooks the water, and is just a short walk to the beach. Felix nods, "Enjoy your walk, Miss. If you need anything, Mr. Salvatore instructed me to tell you that my phone number is on your list of contacts. My orders are to take you where ever you need to go, whenever you need to go somewhere."

Of course it was. I think Felix saw this as a good thing, rather than a complete invasion of privacy, or maybe he's just used to Damon. "Thank you Felix," I reply, not sure what else to say.

Once I'm on the sidewalk, I take off my sandals and go barefoot, holding my shoes in one hand. I take a short path that leads me to a public beach, and think about what's happened. I needed money, and a lot of it, as quickly as possible. Even though I couldn't prove it, the meeting with Richard confirmed that my suspicions were right, the Lockwoods were responsible for Evan. He wanted the business for some reason, and he proved that he'd be willing to do anything to get it. The sum he offered was too close to exactly how much I owed.

Before I reach the ocean, I see a bench covered in sand and sit down. I take out my phone and call Emma, praying she picks up. "Hey Elena, what's up?"

"Hey Emma, I know you're probably busy, but I need to put the cottage back on the market."

When Jenna passed away, I considered selling the cottage, until Caroline and Matt convinced me to keep it. It was on the market for all of 24 hours before I changed my mind. "Really? Okay, we still have pictures and a brochure on file. Do you want me to come by and reassess the house, or do you want to use a similar asking offer?"

"Lower it enough to get the quickest possible offer. I can't afford for this to be tied up in escrow."

"Elena, what's going on?"

I sigh, and decide to tell her everything about the restaurant. After a ten minute explantation, Emma finally replies, "Those fuckers," she yells, and then in full real estate agent mode adds, "I'll get you a great offer Elena, don't worry. You're house is in a prime location, and has old California charm. Are you going to need me to find you a place?"

I couldn't believe it. This was all becoming too real, the thought of leaving my childhood home, the last place I was happy with my entire family. "Yeah, I guess I will. Just a condo or something."

A wave of emotion hits me. Tears start trickling down my cheeks, and I don't bother wiping them away. Instead, I feel them slowly go down my cheeks and splash onto my dress. "I'll find you the perfect place. I'm going to make some phone calls and get the listing online. We'll have to schedule an open house, but we might not have to once the house is listed."

"Thanks Emma," I say through tears.

"I'll go by the house later to put up a sign."

This wakes me up from my depressed state. "Is there anyway we can privately list it? I don't want this getting out. If it does…"

"You don't want Richard finding out. I get it. I'll take care of it. Don't worry. I've got to get on this. I'll talk to you later, okay Elena?"

"Of course. Talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you sweetie."

We hang up and I put the phone back in my purse. I get up, and holding my shoes, and slinging my purse over my shoulder, I walk closer to the water, letting the cool early spring waves crash over my feet. As I stand there, I watch my feet sink deeper and deeper into the sand.

Would it be so wrong to let the restaurant go? I mull Richard's words over in my mind. _Your mother wouldn't have wanted this for you._ I don't know what my mother would've wanted. From what I remembered, she loved the restaurant. Most of my memories of her were working side by side with my Grandmother and Aunt Jenna at The Lunch Box, not necessarily at the cottage.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?"

I turn, lifting my feet out of the water, to see Damon, in his his grey suit, with his jacket off collar now open, and pant legs rolled up, holding his shoes. His skin glistens in the sun, but his hair remains unmoved. He's not smiling, he's gazing at me as if he's trying to figure me out.

"I'm just going to stop asking how you found me. Apparently, you attached a tracker device somewhere in my on my body, because I can't seem to shake you."

Damon smirks. "Felix told me the direction you walked in, but that's not a bad idea. I could think of a few placed to hide such a device."

I scoff. I wouldn't put it past him. "What happened to your _friend_?"

"Allison and I just had drinks. She happened to be in town on business. If her _husband_ were here, we'd have gone golfing."

"She's married," I echo.

Damon bows his head slightly and smiles, "To my brother. We grew up together. Stefan used to follow Allison around like a lost puppy, until he finally had the courage to ask her out."

I walk through the cool water to wash some of the sand off my feet. Damon follows me, and we end up walking along the beach. "What's your brother like?" I ask.

Damon stops, and looks at me as if he's trying to decide what to tell me, "He's friendly," he replies with a wink, and adds, "You'd like him."

I slap him on the shoulder. "What makes you think that I'd like him? I'm very picky about who I associate with," I say playfully.

"Because _everyone_ loves Stefan. He can do no wrong," he says, humor leaving his voice.

I pause, I didn't sense jealousy, but maybe a little sorrow. "Nobody's perfect," I say. "Besides, where's the excitement in someone who's flawless?"

Damon turns to me with his eyebrows raised. "And do you like excitement, Ms. Glbert?"

Oh god, this conversation somehow came back around to me. Damon was good at that. Divulging a little bit of information, and then pulling away. We continue to walk for a bit, our hands brush each other's as he walks closer to my side, sending tingles through my body. His question going unanswered.

I couldn't let myself get caught up in Damon. I had a list of things that I needed to do, and Damon caused my mind to go blank. He had the ability to draw me in with a simple touch, with both complete furry and mind numbing lust. His hand grabbed mine, and intertwined our fingers together. He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. It was juvenile, but simple and intimate. He pulled me closer to the water, causing waves to crash up on the bottom of my dress. I yelped, which made him laugh. We stand in silence for a few moments, watching the seagulls fly to the water and then back out, smelling the sea air. My heart beating faster and faster with each crashing wave.

With his firm grasp on my hand, Damon pulls me closer, wrapping his other arm, still holding his shoes, around me. I let myself breath him in, just a hint of masculine cologne mixed with the ocean, as I rest my head on his chest. Letting my mind relax. The stress of selling my childhood home, the money I owe at the restaurant, gone. All of it, washed away with the tide.

Damon leans down and kisses my head. "You looked very plaintive when I found you. Is there something you want to talk about?"

I shake my head, breaking away, waking myself up. "I better get going," I reply, taking a few steps back and walking towards the sidewalk. Damon follows me.


	7. Chapter 7: No Need to Pray

Author's Note: Happy Sunday, everyone. Thank you for the kind reviews and thank you for reading. It's extremely motivating seeing that people are enjoying this Delena AU. I plan on updating at least twice a week, if not more. Even though my summer is busier than I thought, this story has been flowing very easily and it's a great distraction from the heat. In this chapter, we learn more about Damon's backstory. When writing this fic, I've been trying to explore the other sides of Damon that we see glimpses of on the show. Damon loves with his whole heart, he's insightful, snarky and smart, he understands people better than most think he does, and he is a little bit of an obsessive dork. I hope that you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 7: No Need to Pray, No Need To Speak

It's dangerous to look at my life before the accident. I spend a lot of time blocking the memories of my eighty year old grandmother drinking bourbon and killing it in a chili cook-off; sneaking out after dark to go on a bike ride with Tyler and Matt; Jeremy covering for me when my parents discovered that I wasn't in my bed asleep. The funny thing is, we wouldn't go anywhere special, maybe to the beach to sit in a life guard stand or Tyler would dare me to climb a tree in the back of the Fell's property, we just liked the freedom and mystery that the dark night provided. Little did I know that darkness would consume me, and part of me would always be poisoned with inky-black.

XXXXXX

Damon I make it to a paved spot with faucets to wash off sand off of feet. We awkwardly stand there in unison, washing our feet at adjoining faucets. Damon bends down and washes off remaining sand on my feet. My foot jerks at his touch, accidentally kicking him in the face. "Oh! Sorry," I say, laughing as he falls completely to the ground, covering his face with one hand.

He's laughing too, with his whole body, as he sits on the ground, the running faucet getting all over his pants. "I should've listened when you said not to mess with you."

His comment irritates me and brings back up the anger I had before. "That's right, you shouldn't!" I reply, walking away, barefoot with my sandals still in my hand.

Once I make it to the sidewalk, I open my purse and pull out my phone. "Don't go!" I hear from behind me.

I continue to ignore him and click on the Uber app, standing near a park bench and wait for the pin to locate me, even though I can feel him standing next to me. "I can give you a ride, Elena," he says.

No, actually he can't. Because if he takes me home, I'll invite him in, and then we'll end up doing things that will distract me. _God, why won't an Uber driver pick up my request_. "No need," I mutter, trying to hide my phone from his view. Just as I was about to receive a text message saying that a driver was about to arrive in 9 minutes, Damon takes the phone out of my hand and cancels my ride.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yell, reaching for my phone to take it back.

He moves his hand, grasping the phone out of reach. "You're going to tell me what's going on. We can do it here, or I can take you back to the penthouse and _convince_ you to tell me."

Convince me? That sounded both promising and horrifying. "Give me back my phone, Damon."

I lunge forward for the phone, but he continues to hold it away from me. "Damn my height!" I say through gritted teeth.

Damon's calm and annoyingly tall. "You're cute when your angry. You get this little crease right here," he replies, pointing to my forehead. I smack his hand out of the way.

"Fine," I say. "Keep the fucking phone. It wasn't mine anyways."

Holding my shoes, I turn around and walk away, but Damon's quicker and blocks my path. "Tell me what's going on, and I might let you go," he says, now holding my phone behind his back.

"You can stand there all day with my phone, but it won't make me talk." Last time we "talked" it didn't end well.

"You'll talk."

I shake my head no. Suddenly, the theme song to Saved by the Bell goes off. _Shit_. That's Tyler's ringtone. Damon sees my reaction, smirks, looks at the phone and his expression darkens. It's actually frightening to see how quickly he can go from point A to point B. He clicks to answer it. _Holy fuck_.

"Tyler Lockwood, do you have a death wish?" Damon says, dangerously calm.

I don't dare say anything, I just make hand signals for him to give me the damn phone or just stop talking, but instead, he turns away from me. Completely panicking, I want to run away while he's distracted, but I'm too curious about the conversation he's having, so I stay rooted to the spot.

"Yes, we're together, so if you want to be able to dance on two legs at your family's next gala, I suggest you _not_ contact Elena Gilbert ever again."

I stand there, shocked. _Together?_ Is this Damon's definition of a relationship? Or does he mean, _I'm standing next to Elena, making her feel uncomfortable_ , together? I thought the conversation was over, but Damon's still talking.

"Competition? Your father's company is a small organization, based in southern California. It is of no consequence to me."

He pauses, and I wish I had a super hearing power, because I can only guess what Tyler is saying to Damon. So far, it sounds like a pissing match between two insufferable cave men.

"I was already planning on taking her to the Night of the Arts Gala."

 _Wait, what?_ That event is one of the largest charity events Founding Families of Newport holds, and brings in millions of dollars for the Children's Hospital of Orange County. I've haven't gone in years, and I don't want to now. I talk to customers for a living, I don't want to have to do it in a dress on a night off. My time was better spent actually volunteering at the hospital, or being sponsored by the hospital in a race.

I tap Damon on the shoulder, and surprisingly, he turns around. When our eyes meet, I shake my head. No way in hell was I going to the event with either cave men. "You can talk to Elena there, with me standing next to her, watching your every move."

He hangs up the phone, but doesn't hand it back to me, instead he squints his crystal clear blue eyes at me, assessing my reaction. I stand there, with my arms folded, awkwardly holding my shoes. Neither of us speaks, each standing our own ground. "Tell me what's going on with you and the Lockwood's, and I'll give you your phone back and tell you what Tyler said. He had some very interesting things to say."

Dammit. He had me. I was dying of curiosity. I purse my lips together, "Fine," I reply.

He puts my phone in his pocket, which causes me to sigh out of frustration. "Not until we're done. I want your full attention," he says replying to my reaction.

"You're an ass. Has anyone ever told you that?" I say.

Damon raises his eyebrows. "Let's get some coffee. I know a place place where we'll have some privacy," he says, choosing to ignore my dig.

I decide to not comment on the fact that I've lived in Newport my whole life, and I know every coffee shop within a 20 mile radius, none of which are private, but decide to not say anything. I glare at him, but nod, refusing to speak. He can drag me to a coffee shop in Italy for all I care, I'm not going to make it pleasant for him. We stop to put on our shoes, and I watch Damon carefully slip on his loafers, his ankles tan and masculine. I didn't think it would be possible to be attracted to a man's feet, but Damon is pure perfection. Catching my gaze, Damon's lips twitch and I childishly stick my tongue out at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was turned on by his feet.

He raises his eyebrows and guides me back to the valet, where Felix is standing in front of a black BMW sedan, waiting for us. I purposefully stay a few steps behind him, away from his touch.

"Good to see you again, Ms. Gilbert," Felix says, opening my door.

I smile, sliding in. "Hello, Felix."

Damon walks to the other side, whispers something in Felix's ear before he opens Damon's door and gets in. Once inside the car, I turn away from Damon. The confines of the car are not helping my libido, even with Felix in the front seat. It doesn't work, I can feel his eyes bore into me and it immediately causes my stomach to do flip flops.

"Start talking, Elena," he says. It's not a request, it's a demand. Not even giving him the satisfaction of hearing a reply, I simply stay turned towards the window and point to Felix. "Felix has been working for me for the past 10 years, he isn't going to say anything."

Wow. For someone already so young, Damon must have been successful at an incredibly young age, unless he has family money. I'm completely sidetracked and wanted to ask a question, but decided against it. I can't let him suck me in his vortex. Staying angry was a safe place and I honestly needed to come up with a version of the truth to tell Damon. I roll my eyes, "I'm not having this conversation here."

Damon smirks, "You can stall all you want, you're going to tell me everything."

Fucking hell. How does he do that? Am I that easy to read? Caroline always said I was a bad liar, and that I wore my emotions on my face, but I thought he was just saying that because he knows me so well. I shrug and turn my body back so I'm facing the road.

While we drive, I glance at Damon who's scrolling through his phone and sending emails. The moment he sees me looking, I quickly turn my eyes back toward the road, embarrassed. After about a half hour, Felix pulls into a private iron gate, enters a code, and pulls into a cobblestone driveway. I look over at Damon, who's watching for my reaction and I know he wants me to comment, so I say nothing.

We park in front of a large brick home with a arched deep mahogany door and brass handle. A series of vines climb up the bricks, framing the paned glass windows. Massive potted plants and groomed shrubbery line the walkway. Felix opens my door, and I get out, thanking him. Damon walks me to the door, and taking out a key opens the door. He didn't take me to a coffee shop, as I suspected, he took me to a private residence. How exactly did he expect our conversation to end up?

"What is this, a billionaire's equivalent of a fuck pad?" I joke. Damon clears his throat and looks behind me.

"No, Damon's fuck pads aren't nearly as nice," says a sweet voice from behind me.

Damon grins and walks up to a beautiful woman with long auburn hair. It's the same woman Damon met at the club earlier, except she's barefoot and wearing a blue a-line tank top and yoga pants. "Elena Gilbert, this is Allison Salvatore," Damon says, grinning from ear to ear. I could kill him for not warning me.

"I thought you said she was in town on business?" I blurt out.

Not taking my rudeness personally, Allison chimes in. "It's a family home. Stefan insists I stay here when I check up on one of my stores. I own a chain of children clothing stores called, Baby Waves."

I've had no desire to step foot inside her store, no matter how many times Caroline begged me to go in with her and coo over tiny versions of jelly sandals or Nike tennis shoes, but the shop was really popular. I know because when Matt stays with me, he likes to watch The Real Housewives of Orange County, and it's been featured on the show. I walk up to shake her hand, but she pulls me in for a warm hug. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Elena."

 _Finally?_ "I hope Damon didn't drag you here to see me, he can be a controlling ass sometimes," she says, releasing me from her hug. I like her immediately.

I turn to look at Damon, who doesn't seem to mind the casual insult. He appears to be completely relaxed for the first time since I met him, boyish even. He kept his jacket and tie off, his hair still in place. "Uncle Damon," screams a voice from behind me. A girl, no more than 3 with long bouncing red curls in a pink princess dress, complete with a tulle tutu skirt and plastic silver crown runs in and hugs Damon's leg. Damon lifts her up, and holds her on his hip so he can look at her.

"You've grown at least six feet in hair since I last saw you! I might have to start calling you Rapunzelle," he says, just as my heart melts. Who knew the possessive stalking pain in my ass could be so sweet with children?

Damon gives her a kiss on the forehead, and still holding her, introduces us. "Sophie, this is Elena."

Sophie looks at me, with those Salvatore blue eyes, and says with complete sincerity, "Are you a princess?"

I can't help but laugh, "No sweetie. I'm just a friend of your Uncle's." Damon raises his eyebrows at me. I don't think he liked the friend comment. He should be grateful, I could think of a few other choice words.

"But you must be royalty. Your dress is magnificent!" I say, focusing on Sophie. She giggles and shyly sticks her head in Damon's chest.

"Allison, do you mind if Elena and I have some coffee on the balcony? We needed a private place to talk," Damon says.

Allison eyes him suspiciously. "Of course, can you put Sophie down for her n-a-p, while I put a pot on?" she replies, spelling out each letter.

Damon nods. "Sophie, I heard you got a new bed spread!" he says, winking at me. He walks down a hallway, with Sophie in his arms.

"Make yourself at home," Allison says pointing to a white sofa, with blue accent pillows as she leaves, to walk towards the kitchen. I walk around the living space and I'm reminded of a more warm version of Damon's penthouse. There's a large brick fireplace, black and white photos the family artfully decorate the walls; none of Damon. I walk towards a book shelf, and see first edition copies of Austin novels, a collection of old National Geographic magazines dating back to the 1900s, and various poetry books.

I wander over to shelves built into the wall with various photographs. I gaze at a picture of a full faced little boy, maybe five years old, with a head full of dark hair sitting up straight and playing the piano in a suit and tie. I pick up one of a boy with disheveled raven black hair, no more than 10 years old, playing with legos in his bedroom. He's wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, and concentrating on his building.

"He was a chubby kid. The other kids in our neighborhood used to tease him relentlessly. According to Stefan, you couldn't get him to leave his room until he was in high school," I turn to look at Allison standing behind me, watching.

"Completely obsessed with books, movies and Legos. He read Gone With the Wind in the seventh grade," She lets out a laugh, and I smile. I was so going to save that information for another time.

"What boy chooses to read that book for fun?" she pauses. "He was 13 there," she adds pointing to the picture.

Holy shit. Thirteen. My mouth actually hangs open. "What happened?" I ask.

"He still obsessed over movies and building things, he just started running and stopped eating 12 of everything put in front of him," she pauses, thinking about something and shaking her head. "Actually, if you want to know what I think, I think Damon started working out because he saw Stefan being bullied. Damon could hold his own out of shape, but I don't think he liked seeing his baby brother being pushed around. Damon's always been his own person. Even when girls were absolutely tripping over themselves to go to prom with him, he didn't go."

I had pictured Damon as this self assured jock, always into sports or video games, but not this. This took me by surprise, as if this hard shell he puts on in front of me, is slightly cracked under the information. I couldn't help but want more. "How did he…"

"Become who he is today?" Allison says, finishing my sentence. My face reddens under her gaze. Maybe I dug too far.

"What are you two talking about?" Damon says, coming from behind me, causing me to slightly jump in surprise. I was so into talking about him, I momentarily forgot he was still here.

"You," Allison says simply. "Were you able to get Sophie to sleep?"

"After showing me all of her new dolls, telling me their names and complete background story, she went right asleep," Damon looks at the photo, still in my hand and grimaces.

I self consciously put it back where it was, and look at Allison for help. She gives me a reassuring smile, and says, "Thanks for putting Sophie to sleep. Coffee's ready. I set up the table on the balcony."

Damon takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, and guides me to the balcony. The home is in the hills of Laguna Beach. The moment we walk outside and I see the water in the near distance, I know exactly where we are. It's beautiful for the late afternoon, the sun is starting to set, causing the sky to start turning a deep orange pink. White wood frames the balcony with paned glass. Damon leads me to a small table set up in the corner and a wooden wicker chair with cream cushions and pillows that match the living room furniture.

I sit down, and look at the ocean and palm trees from my high view, refusing to speak until prompted. Allison brings out a tray of shortbread cookies, two french pressed coffee pots, rose pink coffee mugs, a carafe of cream and a small porcelain pot of sugar.

"I'll just be inside making dinner. Let me know if you need anything," she says.

"Thank you, Allison. This is lovely," I say.

Damon smiles at his sister-in-law, an unspoken thank you, and she leaves, closing the sliding glass door behind her. Damon pours me a cup, add a couple spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of cream. I have no clue how he knows the exact way I like my coffee. It's irritating. He sits across from me, and doesn't touch his mug. Instead, he inspects me, his eyes hooded. "Talk," he says.

Oh god, where's Allison? He was so much more pleasant around her. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "So, was this your plan? Manipulate me to speak by taking me to your sister's home and introducing me to your insanely cute niece?"

Damon's lip twitches, but his eyes remain dark and serious. He takes my phone out of his back pocket and looks at it. "Twelve missed phone calls and seven voicemail messages. Plus, a text from someone named Caroline saying _you need to learn to fucking communicate_ ," Damon smirks. "Well, she knows you well. Talk, Elena."

I roll my eyes, not really caring about my phone at the moment. I haven't really communicated with Caroline in a few days, but she knew I was busy. "Why did you say you were taking me to the Night of the Arts Gala?" I ask.

I know I'm pushing his buttons, but I don't care. I feel completely out of place here, in unknown territory, and he clearly has the upper hand.

Damon gets up from his chair, slowly leans down, so I can feel his breath on my ear, and feel his five o'clock shadow on my cheek. "If you think I won't try something at my sister's, you haven't been paying attention," he whispers, dangerously quiet.

Heat travels to my core, and I have to cross my legs to keep myself in some sort of control over my natural impulses, which is to lick his stubble. He nips my ear, which causes me to yelp, and keeping his head close to mine, he moves his hand to my thigh, uncrosses my legs and squeezes my thigh right at my apex, grazing my sex. I moan in reaction to the calculated game. He wasn't playing fair. "Answer me," he continues to whisper in my ear.

I hesitate, and feel his hand move to the hem of my dress, slip under and slowly uses two of his fingers to walk up my inner thigh, pressing deep into my skin with each movement, walking the fine line between pain and pleasure. My eyes start to lose focus and my head begins to lull back. "Now, Elena."

I'm at a loss for words. _What were we arguing about?_ His fingers inch closer and closer to my ignited core. "Yes," I croak.

Damon leans in and licks the sensitive spot behind my ear, and continues to press. "Yes, what?"

My chest raises up and down as my breathing quickens. _Oh god_. "Yes, I'll talk," I breath. He let's go, withdrawing his hand from my dress, and lifting his head from my neck. I sigh in frustration, wishing he took me to his penthouse instead of his sister's. I slump back in my chair, my arms folded, as he sits back and waits for me to talk. Taking a minute to catch my breath and lower my heart rate.

"You already know about my financial troubles with the restaurant," I pause letting that statement sink in. I didn't want him thinking he could wave his magic checkbook again and make my problems go away. He seems to get what I'm insinuating, and nods, allowing me to continue.

"Richard Lockwood offered to buy the restaurant, except he offered an amount extremely close to the amount I owe, and admitted to knowing about my financial troubles. I concluded that he is responsible for Evan Ward's actions. I don't have concrete proof, and I doubt I'll ever be able find any," I stop myself from saying anymore, hoping this is enough information to go on.

"Continue," he says.

I sigh. "Richard kept on bringing up my mother, implying that she didn't want this life for me."

"Did she want this life for you?" Damon asks. The question causes me to pause. Why had this been coming up so much? Why would it matter what my mother wanted? She's gone. Left me in a heap of a mess. I have no clue what she'd want me to do. Anger bubbles up in me, and I start to get up.

"I need to go for a run," I pause. "I mean walk."

I barely am able to stand up, when Damon grabs me by the waist and sits me back in the chair. He lays the white cloth napkin that dropped to the floor across my lap, skimming my sex. A reminder. A reminder that he has a hold over me. A moan escapes my mouth. "You're not leaving me," he says.

Oh, he's confident. It wasn't a request or a plea, it was a demand made with inexplicable certainty. "I'd rather not talk about…"

"Your mother," he finishes. "I understand."

Something about the way his eyes softened makes me believe that he does understand. How? I purse my lips. "Continue," he adds. What? Oh, right. The Lockwood's.

"The Lockwood's own most of Newport, and as a Founding Family, they have the most clout. It's pretty much known their influence in the community stretches far. They've donated enough, built libraries, additions to the schools, held benefits, and fundraisers. Enough to garner favoritism and kick backs. Richard is calculated and manipulative. When Tyler and I hung out in high school," I flick my eyes up and brace myself for his reaction. Yup. I was right, he doesn't seem happy with this information. His brow furrows and he grips his chair. I plunge forward, desperately wanting to get this part over with.

"Tyler was different from his father. He told me stories about his Dad's many affairs, his cold attitude toward his children, his unrealistic expectations, and things he saw his father do. It was all said in disgust, as if he never wanted to be like him. When I stopped interacting with Tyler, I had heard that he went to Stanford, and I didn't see him again until recently. He moved back for an internship at his father's company. I had a feeling something was going on, because Tyler was trying too hard to act as if nothing had happened." I look at Damon to see if he's following. The cogs in his brain are in overdrive. He hasn't touched his coffee, instead his hands rest underneath his chin and he's gazing at a boat sailing off in the distance beneath the setting sun.

When he realizes I've stopped talking, he turns to look at me. "So when Richard approached you about buying the restaurant, you realized he was responsible for Evan."

"It's more than that. My brother was the one that was responsible for telling me Evan was a friend, a recent Stanford graduate, and needed a job. I called my brother this morning and he told me he met Evan at a party last June. After a bit of digging, I found out that Tyler Lockwood was there too."

Damon nods his head. "Tyler manipulated your brother into convincing you to hire Evan."

"Yes," I say, putting my head in my hands out of a combination of frustration and embarrassment.

"Tyler wants to take you to the benefit as a sort of apology," he says with disgust.

I lift my head up. "What more could he want? He already fucked me over," I say, my face growing warm. "I mean financially."

Damon looks at me, shocked. "He wants you, Elena."

What? Why would Tyler want me? He was voted Newport's Most Eligible Bachelor last year. He could have any tall leggy blonde he wants. There was a time, long ago, when we were friends, but then it got weird when we started sneaking off to mess around.

"Ever since I've started investing in Newport, with my hotel, club and golf course…."

"Golf course?" I can't help it, but these people are like a different species.

Damon's lip twitches. "Yes, golf course."

I give him an apologetic nod. "The Lockwood's have been making it close to impossible to open a business. As you noted, they have a strong pull in the city. The Wave was consistently shut down for minor violations based on anonymous tips. Before we built the hotel, the property was under a tremendous amount of red tape. Building permits were lost, there was a local petition to not allow us to build because the property was allegedly on a Balboa nature preserve."

I wasn't incredibly shocked over Damon's small revelation, but I had never thought about how long Richard has been in the community. It's surprising that we hadn't come across each other until recently.

"How have we not met before? It seems like we would've crossed paths at some point, considering I've been here for so long, and yes, I don't own a hotel or golf course, but I am a local business owner."

This question throws Damon off guard, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "I came occasionally and was fully aware of the progress on the properties, but someone else was in charge of the Newport projects."

Why do I feel like he's hiding something? Maybe it's the fact that his usual over confidence seems shaken. His eyes have left me and are somewhere else. _He wants you, Elena._

"Wait, you're saying that the _only_ reason Tyler wants to be with me, is because I'm caught in the middle of some pissing match between you and the Lockwood's? And the reason you want to take me to the benefit, is so I could be some trophy date?" I'm not yelling, I am frighteningly calm as these words pour out of my mouth. It's almost comforting knowing that this, whatever is going on between Damon and me, is not going anywhere.

Damon's eyes darken and he stands up, and resting each hand on the arm rests, and leans in so his body hovers over mine, and he's not an inch away from my face. "Don't do that," he orders.

"Do what?" I croak in reply.

"Demean yourself." We've been here before. Had this same conversation at the restaurant, right after he said he wanted to take me away from Newport.

"Why?" I whisper.

He grabs my neck, tilting me to meet him and kisses me, sucking on my lower lip, and then entering my mouth, swirling his tongue. My heart pounds into my throat. My entire being is conflicted. This feels so good, he feels good.

"You're intoxicating," he breaths, as he slightly pulls away and dives back in. Sucking. Tasting. Nipping. Crashing.

I wrap my arms around his back, pulling him closer to me, as he devours my entire being, kissing me with such force, I enter this blissful place that's just me and Damon, on our own private island without any complications. My body hums beneath his touch, my desire building.

"Damon, do you want…oh!," his sister says. Damon groans as he lifts himself off of me, kissing my nose on the way up. The moment of sweet affection makes me smile. I stay put in the chair, with my back to Allison, avoiding reaction, embarrassed to be caught in a moment of lust.

"Yes, Ally?" he says wryly. He's pleased with himself, and I can't believe he's enjoying this.

"God Damon, keep it in your pants when your here!" she yells. Damon breaks into a huge grin, and knocks his head back laughing. Allison appears to be giggling too. I remain slumped in the wicker chair, completely mortified.

"Dinner will be ready in a half hour. Were you two planning on staying?"

"No, we'll be on our way shortly."

"Fine. Be sure to say good bye to Sophie, before you leave. It was nice meeting you Elena."

I wave my hand in the air, embarrassed and still hiding my look of terror from Allison. "Thank you for your hospitality," I say.

"You're welcome anytime," she says. Damon nods, and I hear the door shut. I slap him as hard as I can across the shoulder. He stumbles back and feigns pain. "What was that for?"

"You jackass! You knew your Allison was going to walk through that door."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since our friendly visit in the bathroom."

I roll my eyes. "Are you going to tell me what Tyler said on the phone?"

Damon sits back down in his chair and leans over, resting his elbows on his knees. He thinks for a moment, and then turns to look at me. "He thinks the only reason I'm with you, is because of your restaurant."

This makes no sense. "Why would Tyler think that you'd care about The Lunch Box?"

"Because the his Dad wants it and you've turned both him and his Dad down."

There's more. There has to be more to it because why do the Lockwood's want my family's restaurant? The question's been plaguing my mind since he made the offer. I'll have to do some digging. Maybe one of my mother's old journals will say something about Richard. She has a stack of journals I haven't even touched, in the attic. When we put away my mother's things, I asked Aunt Jenna about them, and she said my Mom used to write for a half hour every night, because it calmed her down, and helped her sleep.

There's one more thing that's been bugging me, and he's already avoided the topic. "Why did you say that I'm going with you to the gala?"

His eyes darken slightly. "Because you are."

Did I miss the invitation? "I don't remember being asked."

Damon sucks in breath, and gives me a pained expression. "Would you like to go to the Night of the Arts Gala with me?"

"No," I reply flatly.

He stands up and runs his hands through his hair. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not." The last thing I want to do, is go to an awkward party where people like Tyler are going. It's high school all over again.

"We're finishing this conversation somewhere else," he says, pulling my hand to follow him.

Uh oh. This isn't good. If I let him take me somewhere else, he'll do other things to convince me. He's good at doing that, taking me from place to place as a diversion. I try to yank my hand from his grasp, but he doesn't budge. "This would be a lot easier if you would just listen to me," he says turning around to face me. "I'm not above _convincing_ you under my this roof, but my niece is about to wake up, and I'd rather it not be because _._ ," he says, punctuating every word.

Oh god. He looks serious and it's rendered me speechless. I just move my head up and down, like an idiot as he leads me back to the living room. "Wait here," he says. I nod again in recognition of his order. Damon leaves towards Sophia's bedroom.

Once he's out of sight, I find myself walking over to the photos. I pick up the same photo I gazed at earlier. His face is screwed up in concentration as he pieces together a building. I've seen that look, it's the same look of determination he's given me countless times. I see little signs above the buildings, naming each business. One has a cut out picture of the Warner Brother's logo, and it's attached to the top of one of his buildings. I giggle as I look at another sign with the In-n-Out logo, one that says Damon's Pizza Max, The Mos Eisley Cantina from Star Wars, and another that says Disneyland Headquarters. Then in the corner of the photo, I make out one more sign, next to what looks like blue construction paper with Lego boats resting on top. The Lunch Box. THE LUNCH BOX.

My stomach drops. He's been to The Lunch Box before. Not just before, but when he was a kid. I hear footsteps coming from the hallway and put the photo down and step away from the shelf. I turn around to see Damon carrying a sleepy Sophie. Her head rests on Damon's shoulder, and her eyes flutter to wake up. He looks at me, puts one finger over his lips and walks her to the kitchen. I stand, awkwardly, waiting for him to return.

I have no clue what to do with this information, but I know that I want to hold onto it before I confront him. Since I've met Damon, it's been a series of revelations or coincidences, and this piece of the puzzle is something I cannot get past. I need to do some digging. Actually, I need to make a list of all the people I have to find information on, because the list seems to be growing.

I momentarily contemplate how long it would take for an Uber to arrive, when Damon returns. "What's wrong?" he says. I shrug my shoulders. He gives me a doubtful look. Dammit, I am a horrible liar, and I haven't even said anything.

"More of the same," I mutter. At least that's true.

He squints his eyes to assess my change in mood. I went from putty in his hands, to cold and distant in a matter of 5 minutes, but he seems to let it go.

"Let's go," he says, waving his hand in the air.

I follow him to the door and out to the car. Damon continually looks back, to check and see if I'm behind him. He tries to grab my hand, but I dodge it. When we arrive at the car, Felix greets us, and opens the door for me. Once I'm inside, Damon whispers something to Felix, Felix puts in his ear buds and opens the door for Damon. I turn towards the window, praying he's taking me directly to the cottage.

"Something's wrong," he says, his apprehension clear.

I continue to keep my face plastered to the window, focusing on the houses we pass. "I hope you're dropping me off at my house."

I hear Damon sigh, loudly. "No."

I turn towards him, and look in his eyes, completely focused so he knows how serious I am. "I have to get up early tomorrow for work. I run a business that is currently deep in the red, and I don't have time to argue with you about going to some party."

I know what's coming. I know what he'll try to do, and what I have to do to get him off my back once and for all. Damon unbuckles his seat belt, and leans over, his eyes dark and hooded. I can feel the desire building up inside me and subconsciously cross my legs and back away from him as much as I can. He reaches up behind me, and leans in close, so I smell his minty breath, and pulls the seatbelt out from behind my back and buckles me in, taking his time to straighten the strap right at my crotch. I am immediately wet, and continue to keep my legs crossed, so as not to give myself away.

Biting my lower lip, I glare at him and looking into his deep blue irises, push him away. He doesn't budge. "I am not your hostage," I say, still attempting to get him as far as possible in the back of a sedan. _He is really strong_.

His lip twitches. "Oh Elena, I have every intention of keeping you all to myself," he pauses to uncross my legs and glides his hand up my thigh to my pulsing mound. "Wet for me." _Holy Hell_. I try not to melt under his touch, and keep my mind focused on what I want, which is really hard when his hand is doing things that cause me to have temporary amnesia.

"Fuck," I moan as he pushes my panties away and inserts his middle finger in my sex. My head lulls back as he drags his middle finger out of me, he uses the juices to swirl around my pulsating clit. My body throbs with need. Suddenly, the car stops at a light, waking me up from my Damon euphoria.

Damon is fingering me with Felix two feet away, and sure, he can't see anything from his vantage point, or hear anything with his earbuds in, but it's enough to remind me that I need to get home, and acting like Damon's sex hostage wasn't the way to go about it.

"No, Damon. Stop," I say through gritted teeth. My voice sounds foreign and harsh. He immediately backs off and straightening his shirt, he sits back down. I suddenly feel cold in the absence of his touch. He seems angry, but I don't care. I can't care. Without looking at me, he taps Felix on the shoulder and tells him to take me back to the cottage.

The short drive back is quiet. I cast quick glances in Damon's direction to see if he's okay, but I know he's not. He's pouting, his body turned away from me, concentrating on his phone. He's probably never heard the word "No" before, from a woman.

When we arrive at the cottage, Felix gets out of the car to open my door. Damon pockets his phone, unbuckles his seatbelt and makes to get out. "No, Damon. Stop," I say, echoing my words from earlier. He scowls. "I need to figure things out," I say, gently. "You distract me, and right now, I can't afford a distraction in my life."

His eyes soften at my words, and he leans over to kiss me, but I back away and walk out the car, thanking Felix on my way to the front door. I open my purse to get out my keys when realize Damon still has my phone. Fuck. I knew that was too easy.

I spin around, silently praying the car is still in the driveway, when Damon stops me mid spin, his eyes narrowed at me. I make to say something, but he puts his hand over my mouth. It's warm and smells like lemongrass.

"Don't say anything," he says. I roll my eyes, because, of course, I can't really say anything. "You don't have to bare the weight of this burden on your own. It's okay to look out for yourself sometimes. Here's your phone," he releases his grasp on my face and hands me my phone out of his jacket pocket. "You still owe me a date," he adds, kissing me on the forehead before he turns around and leaves me completely confused.

Once I'm in my apartment, I walk to the kitchen and put my purse on the table. Still holding the phone, I glance down and notice a bunch of missed calls. As I'm scrolling through missed calls from Tyler, Suz, Emma, and Ben, I receive an incoming call from Caroline. I answer the phone, putting it on speaker as I go to the fridge to make something for dinner. "Hey Care!"

"Elena, we need to Skype."

"Fine, let me get my computer," I say as I leave a dozen eggs on the counter, and walk around the counter to grab my bag. "What's up?" I ask while turning on my computer.

"I just need to see you."

Oh, this can't be good. I quickly sign into my account, and soon see Care's light blue-green eyes staring back at me. "Hey you," I say when I see her face. There's something so comforting about seeing the one person that knows you better than anyone on the planet.

Caroline smiles wryly, "How's the boy?"

How did she know? I run my hand along my lower lip, wondering if my lipstick is smeared. "You can't hide anything from me, Elena Gilbert. It's all over your face. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, and you look like you're in pain."

Realization dawns on my and I roll my eyes, "Emma told you."

"That too," he grins. "So, tell me about him."

"He's a controlling possessive stalker who conveniently inserted himself into my life when it's about to implode, and apparently had a childhood fascination with The Box."

Caroline just flits her hands in the air. "Minor details. From what I've heard and what I've read on all the gossip sites, I already like him better than Tyler."

"It doesn't strike you odd that he starts following me, the moment the restaurant is in trouble and won't leave me alone?"

Caroline shrugs. "This is the guy that was following you while you were running, right?" I nod. "Okay, start from the beginning. I want every dirty detail."

I spend the next hour telling Caroline about Damon working at the restaurant, taking me home after I was drugged, picking me up on the highway, the iPhone, selling the cottage, the kissing, his sister-in-law and blowing him off tonight. Caroline's silent the entire time, absorbing all the information. When I'm done, she exhales slowly. "Fuck, I need a drink," she says, as if she's just finished a marathon.

Caroline disappears for a few minutes and comes back with a glass of chardonnay. "I can't drink alone Elena. Go get yourself something while I contemplate the amount of information you just divulged."

I roll my eyes, but get up anyways. Once I return to the computer with a glass of Malbec, Caroline has her index fingers pressed together over her lips, with his other fingers interlaced. After I've taken a sip and settled in, she starts.

"It seems like he really likes you, and coming from a fellow fan of yours, I don't find that odd at all," she pauses. "Has he shown interest in buying the restaurant?"

I think for a moment. "No, he's really only offered to help."

"Do you want him to leave you alone?"

I sigh, "I don't know."

Caroline gives me a knowing look. "Given your history, I can understand why you wouldn't want someone you started caring about get too close, but maybe it's time you took a risk on someone who actually makes you blush and treats you well. It's okay to be happy, Elena."

I swallowed the tears trying to escape. "I don't know if Damon makes me happy. Confused, yes." I think for a moment, and review everything since Damon and I met.

"Love and hate's a fine line, Gilbert. He draws out emotion from you, makes you feel, frustrates you, and you like him, otherwise you would've kicked his ass to the curb by now."

And that was the hard truth. I've given in every time we've had an encounter. I tried to run away, but not far enough to where he couldn't catch me. Seeing the look of realization on my face, Caroline grins. "It doesn't hurt to see where it goes," she says. "Plus, he's a Founding Family member, so it's good to keep it all in the family, so to speak."

My stomach lurches, and I think I might be sick. Damon's been acting as though he's new in town, and I've brought up the Founding Families a few times, and not once has he mentioned that he was a part of the Founding Families. What else is he keeping from me? "Wait, Damon Salvatore is a Founding Family member?"

"Oh my God, Elena. Did those months as a reckless druggy fry your brain? The Salvatore's are a Founding Family, but left Newport to settle in Laguna Beach. There are rumors that in the 1800s, Benjamin Lockwood and Thomas Fell had a falling out with Giuseppe Salvatore, and forced him out of the group. The Salvatore's haven't been seen around here for years. The funny thing is, according to my Dad, the Salvatore's still donate to the preservation of the city whenever there's a function. They just never show, until recently," Caroline pauses, then let's out a huge scream. "Wait. WAIT. Do you think that's why Damon is so interested in what's going on with the Lockwood's?"

Tears are streaming down my face in a continual flow and I hate it because it makes me feel weak and helpless and I despise that feeling.

"Elena…." Caroline whispers in a sympathetic tone.

I hiccup and try to wipe my face with my hands. "I knew it," I croak. "I knew there was a reason he was here, and it had little to do with me. Here I was, thinking he actually on some level understood me and liked me, and really he just wanted to use me to get back at the Lockwood's over some old family rivalry."

"Elena, you don't know that. Just talk to him, I'm sure there's a reason he didn't tell you," Caroline says unconvincingly.

I can't talk about this or anything else anymore, and as much as I love Caroline, I can't look at her right now. "I've gotta go Caroline," and before she can refute, I shut my computer.

I hear my phone immediately go off, and I know it's Caroline chewing me out with a few choice emojis. I know I'm a shitty friend, because it was all about my drama and I didn't even let her talk about her job or Parisian life, but I can't deal with anyone else. Ignoring my phone, I take my glass of wine and the remaining bottle to the bathroom and draw a bath.

One of the things I love about the cottage, is that the bathtub is an old antique claw footed tub. The back of the ivory tub curves perfectly, so my can rest my neck comfortably without drowning. I have a little wire stand with a glass top that easily holds a glass of wine and my phone. I fill up the bathtub with dangerously hot water and grab my phone from the kitchen so I can play music.

I ignore the number of missed calls and text messages, and proceed to turn on music, when I realize I have a lot more songs on my phone. I have a large and varied selection of music, but I've never heard of some of these bands. Yelawolf, Normon Greenbaum, Lord Huron, alt-J, City and Colour and so many more. I look at the playlists and see a number of playlists added, and click on the mix entitled For Elena. The first song is called, _Here with Me,_ by Susie Suh  & Robot Koch.

I sit on the edge of the tub and click play, while the water fills. It doesn't seem like the type of music Damon would have on his iPhone, but the lyrics….oh my…the lyrics are ethereal and haunting. " _Caught in the riptide; I was searching for the truth; There was a reason; I collided into you. Calling your name in the midnight hour; Reaching for you from the endless dream; So many miles between us now; But you are always here with me. Nobody knows why; Nobody knows how and; This feeling begins just like a spark; Tossing and turning inside your heart; Exploding in the dark._ "

Tears stream down my face as I continue to listen to the lyrics. " _Oh inside me; I find my way; Back to you; Back to you._ "

" _Two words; In your hands; In you hearts; It's whole universe; You are always here with me_."

You….are…..always….here….with…..me.


	8. Chapter 8: Now I Am Under All

Author's Note: Happy Sunday, everyone! I've really enjoyed reading everyone's reviews and thoughts about what's going on. One thing that I'm striving for, in this fic, is building an authentic Delena. On the show, Damon and Elena have a strong connection because they had a foundation of understanding, a foundation that had to be built. Damon isn't perfect, and neither is Elena. I've been rewatching TVD, and it's interesting watching season one, and seeing both Damon and Elena individually evolve as their love grows. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it.

Chapter 8: Now I am Under All

I can't sleep again, and honestly I feel like I'll never be able to sleep again. If I didn't have to wake up and deal with butcher knives in the morning, I'd totally become addicted to Ambien. I think an endless sleep sounds pretty good right now, especially after night three of little to no rest. My mind is like a continual riptide, constantly churning new thoughts over and over, not letting anything go, and pulling me further and further away from the shore. I think about the restaurant and how I've managed to destroy my family's legacy in the few years I've run things.

I think about Damon and how I can actually feel blood pumping throughout my body when I'm with him, but how conflicted I am over the fact that there's obviously something else going on. He's been to the Box before. He's a Founding Family member. Admittedly, not huge sins of omission, but he's been withholding that information for a reason, which gives me pause when it comes to trusting him.

I think about Caroline, Jeremy and Matt, off living their lives and building a future for themselves, while I can literally see no future for myself.

I think about my parents. My God, I think about my parents and try as I might, I struggle to push away memories of being at my Dad's office and helping Dorothy at the front desk greet customers while wearing Rainbow Bright scrubs my dad had made specially for me; my mother sitting with me on the porch swing during a summer storm, reading _Little Women_ out loud. If I could just go back and rewrite one moment in history, my life would be so different, because they'd be here with me and my mother could tell me what to do.

After I become a tangle of sheets and blankets at two in the morning, I decide to get up and make something my mother used to make me when I couldn't sleep. I walk to the kitchen and turn on the stove. I pour milk in a small pot and throw in a vanilla pod and a cinnamon stick and a little bit of sugar. I swirl the ingredients around with a spoon and slowly bring the contents to a boil. After taking out the pod and cinnamon stick, I pour the warm milk in a blue mug and take it upstairs to a room I never go in.

My parents room has remained untouched since the accident. Even when Aunt Jenna was sick and bed ridden, she refused to move into the larger room. Though it's been five years, I've avoided cleaning it out because then it would be real and I'd have to deal with the fact that I am an orphan and it's all my fault. My parents won't be there for Jeremy's college graduation, wedding, the birth of his first child, all because of me.

My mother surely would've done a better job taking care of Aunt Jenna when she was puking her guts out at three in the morning, after chemo. Maybe she'd be alive too. Deep down, I _know_ Aunt Jenna would be alive if my parents had never died. She was so stressed, taking care of me, Jeremy and the restaurant, I made things worse. My heart wrenches with the knowledge that I poison everything, and what makes things worse, is that people don't seem to hate me for it, no matter how hard I tried in the beginning.

I open the door, holding my mug of warm milk. I have a housekeeper come by the cottage twice a week to clean while I'm at work. She has specific instructions for when she comes into my parents room. She isn't to move anything, just dust and vacuum and wash and change the linens once a week. The incredible thing is, that the moment I open the door, the room still smells like my mother; like flowers blowing in the dunes by the ocean.

I walk towards my mother's nightstand, trailing my fingers along the white duvet embroidered in the middle with a silver blue monogram MGG. Meredith. Gilbert. Grayson. My breathing becomes shallow as I try to hold back tears. Avoiding the pictures decorating the nightstand, I open up the drawer and pull out a stack of leather bound journals. Carefully placing my mug on the wooden floor, I sit down, leaning my back against the bed. I unravel the thin leather rope and read the first entry.

 _September 2, 1997_

 _Today was Elena's first day of kindergarten. I can't believe how old she's getting. It seems like yesterday she was sitting in my lap while I read Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, on the porch swing, and now she's starting elementary school. Elena was excited, but she's so stubborn. She wouldn't let me french braid her long brown hair and refused to wear the purple polka dot dress I picked out at Nordstrom. Instead, she insisted on wearing a bright red t-shirt under her overalls with the ripped knee and converse sneakers._

 _Worst of all, she wouldn't let me walk her into the classroom. She said that she was a big kid and could do it on her own. It was painful walking her to school and then having to leave her for the day. I was so depressed that I walked Jeremy in the stroller and looped the school until recess, so I could see her. I recognized her the moment she ran out onto the field. Her hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, and she as ahead of the boys as she made her way to the field, except when she turned back to make sure she was beat Tyler to Four Square, she tripped and fell on her face. I almost ran out on the field, tempted to take her in my arms and comfort her. But after a brief pause that I recognized as her trying not to let her pain get to her, she got up, laughed and continued to run._

XXXXX

It's a sweet torture reading this journal, feeling like she's right next to me, and knowing she'll never be again. I stare at her beautiful cursive and feel tears pooling in my eyes. That was me, so ready to be independent, I don't think I ever truly appreciated being taken care of. I take another sip of the warm milk, hoping it will fill the massive void in my soul. Instead, it only reminds me of how hallow I am.

Taking the journals and my mug, I leave my parents room and walk into the living room. I lay on the sofa and continue to read out of her journals until I see the sun start coming up and decide to Skype with Caroline before I go for a run.

Caroline answers, and I can tell she's pissed off because she has that look in her eyes that says she doesn't want to talk to me, but she doesn't want to miss the opportunity to bitch.

"What the fuck was that yesterday?" she practically screams. "I am your goddamn best friend. You do not hang up on me in the middle of a crisis."

I sigh, only feeling slightly guilty. "I need coffee if you're going to yell at me. Keep talking, I can hear your shrill voice from the kitchen."

Yes, it was mean, but I didn't get any sleep last night. I take the computer with me to the kitchen while I make a small cup of coffee. I don't want too much coffee before a run, just enough to perk me up. While I put a pod in the Keurig, I listen to Caroline yell at me about being more open to help and actually talking about my feelings, as if that ever has done me any good.

"You can't just shut people out, Elena. People care about you, and you tend to take the solo route in every facet of your life," she says. I roll my eyes as I add a splash of cream to my coffee, and take a sip before I turn around to face her.

"It's not that easy with everyone gone, Caroline. I'm not about to bitch about my problems in Newport while you're in Paris or Matt is in Istanbul or New Zealand or wherever. There really isn't a point to it," I yell back, frustrated.

"Finally," she states.

"What do you mean, "finally"?"

"You're angry. Finally I get an emotion out of you that isn't complete apathy."

I raise my eyebrows. "I told you all about Damon," I argue.

"Yeah, and then you hung up on me."

Annoyed, I throw my hands in the air. "You know what Caroline? My life sucks ass right now and I don't need this from you. You want to know what you've been missing? I've bankrupted the Box because I hired an eager Stanford graduate who I thought was friends with Jeremy, but really was sent by Tyler Lockwood to get to me. The accountant completely screwed me over and now I owe a shit load of taxes. Then, Richard Lockwood offers to buy the Box for close to the exact amount I owe, which means something is going on and I have no clue what to do, except sell my childhood home."

I'm not crying, but my voice is raw. Caroline looks taken aback and I immediately feel horrible. "Well, fuck Elena," is all she can say.

Drink more coffee as Caroline thinks. Several minutes pass before I actually see a lightbulb go off in her head. "Yesterday, you said that Tyler wants to take you to the benefit, right?"

This is all she can think about? A dance? I feel like I'm in high school again, trying to explain to Caroline why Matt might not want to go to the decade dance with her, not matter how stunning they looked together. "Yes," I mumble.

"You know the saying, k _eep your friends close, and your enemy's closer_?"

"You mean your senior quote?" I retort.

Caroline throws daggers at me, which makes me straighten and clasp my hands together, in a sort of, _you have my attention_ , apology. "Go to the dance with Tyler, Elena. Tyler still has a thing for you and wants to use you to get to Damon. Well, I say, use him back. Use him to get information on his Dad."

My mouth drops. I can't help but think of Damon and how he would hate it. "I can't do that, Caroline! Tyler is a shit person, and I'm trying to have less of those people in my life."

"I'm not asking you to sleep with him, I'm just saying, play the part," she says simply.

"He'd see right through me."

"Tyler Lockwood has the emotional depth of a kiddie pool. He'll be so happy to one up Damon Salvatore, that he won't even notice you're using him."

"I could probably see his passcode early on in the night and steal his phone. It's probably 0420 or 6666," I say, now laughing.

"Exactly," she pauses. "Oh, you're going to need a dress and I have the perfect one for you, except you need to promise to send it back. Katherine Pierce needs to wear it for a premier in Cannes."

I groan. "Caroline, I'll wreck it, you know this about me."

"Elena, it will look perfect on you."

"Is it black? I don't want my boobs hanging out all night."

"It's long sleeved, and the girls will be covered."

"Fine," I relent.

She squeals. "So, you're going to go with Tyler?"

"I think I have to."

She squeals again. "Oh my God, I wish I could be there," she pauses gets out her phone to make a note. "I'll send you the dress on Thursday, but I need you to overnight it on Saturday, so it's back here by Sunday for the premier. Just take it to Red Dress Cleaners on Saturday morning and say that it's for me, they'll clean it right away and send it for you. I'll also leave strict instructions for your hair and makeup and have J&J stop by the cottage at two, on Friday."

J&J are John and Johnny, Caroline's go to hair and make up people when she's in SoCal. They've been friends since she started working for Haaz, and apparently refuse to continue to work with Haaz because she's such a bitch. Caroline kept them not only as contacts, but friends.

"Thanks Caroline. I'd better get going, I have to go for a run and get to work."

"I want to hear all about it, and I want a fucking selfie of you in that dress."

"Love you," I laugh as I disconnect.

I look at my phone and scroll until I see the stream of text messages from Tyler that I've been ignoring.

Tyler: I'm so sorry.

Tyler: Let me explain.

Tyler: Please call me.

Tyler: Call me.

Tyler: Please.

Tyler: Elena, I'm sorry.

Tyler: Let me take you to Night of the Arts as and apology.

Tyler: Is this number right?

After seeing all of these messages, I don't think I can go. But after a moment of thinking about it while I pull on shorts and a tank top I decide that against all better judgement, I know what to do and compose the world's most fake message.

Elena: Hey Tyler :) Sorry I haven't gotten back to you, had to get a new phone. I'd love to go with you to the Night of the Arts. Pick me up at 7? I'm so excited.

Tyler doesn't miss a beat. He messages me back within seconds. I put my keys in my back pocket and grab my ear buds before I look at the message.

Tyler: Yes! It'll be a night to remember. You won't regret this. I promise. I'll be there at 7.

He'll definitely not forget that night and he will probably regret taking me. I grin wickedly as I text him back a simple smiley face.

I decide to not to run my usual route, and for the first time in years, run away from the ocean and into the hills of Newport Coast. It's a harder run, going up San Joaquin Hills and almost into Irvine. I sprint up the hill, letting my music fuel my run, going over the things I have to do. I have to go to the farmer's market, call Emma back, meet Pete, start the bread dough, roast chickens, and the list of things I usually do on Tuesday continues, until Damon wanders into my thoughts.

He's not going to be happy when I show up at the benefit on Tyler's arm, but he's going to have to get over it. He has no claim to me and I never agreed to go with him. I don't even want to go, but I have to steal Tyler's phone and see if I can get Evan's number or search his email. Luckily, I know Tyler's stages of drunkenness and can time the moment where he becomes an aloof forgetful drunk pretty well.

All in all, it was going to be a miracle if I manage to find out anything. The night was most likely going to be me in an uncomfortable dress, stuck in snooty conversation, and not any closer to finding out about the Lockwood's diabolical plan.

I round the corner onto the PCH and walk to Starbucks. Pausing my music, I try to casually wipe the layer of sweat off my face before I walk in and order an ice coffee. I step in line and after a few minutes, something feels off. People are staring at me and whispering to their friends. I decidedly ignore them and pretend to be immersed in the menu, even though I know exactly what I want because it's what I order every time I come.

Then, I start hearing it. The whispers become more clear.

"I hear she's back on drugs."

"Partying and ruining the Gilbert legacy, a shame."

"My brother said that she screwed the whole lacrosse team back in high school and now she's back at it."

"I wouldn't mind a go at her."

"The Damon Salvatore, though. What a way to ruin his reputation by tangling with the local slut."

My cheeks burn, and not being able to take it any more, I turn around and leave. I sprint home, run into the kitchen, flip open my laptop and google my name. Then I see it, it's all over the local blogs and it's on the Orange County Register's website, giving it some validity. How I ended up there, I'll never know, but there's multiple pictures of me from last week when I went to The Wave and I'm grinding up against that guy that spiked my drink with the tumbler of ginger vodka in my hand. I scroll down and there's an old picture from high school of me doing a line of coke wearing only a bra and panties, but there's a square bar covering both, making the picture look much worse than it already does. The headline reads, "Local Celebrity Chef and Founding Family Member Elena Gilbert Bankrupt".

I feel sick as I read the article.

 _Elena Gilbert, owner of local favorite, The Lunch Box has recently been spotted at The Wave night club heavily drinking and dancing. Witnesses say that she started a fight between two men, one billionaire mogul Damon Salvatore, and the other a local patron who bought her drinks. Britney Clave, a waitress at The Wave, comments. "Elena Gilbert was drunkenly seducing some guy on the dance floor, and then Damon Salvatore comes out of VIP and punches him. Then, later on, I saw Elena passed out in another guys arms with white powder on her nose. They had to carry her to a car to be taken home."_

 _All this after it was reported that Newport's landmark, The Lunch Box owes back taxes and hasn't been paying vendors._ Sources say, _her partying has caused her to lose focus on the restaurant that has been in her family for seventy three years, and she'll have to declare bankruptcy within the month to protect her personal assets from debt collectors._

My jaw drops. How did they get the pictures of me at the club? How did they get the older pictures from high school? They had multiple pictures of me at The Wave that night, me walking out of the bank at eight at night, pictures of me passed out, and pictures of Sam carrying me out to Damon's car. They're making it look like I single handedly lost the restaurant because of my reckless behavior. It's clearly a campaign against me, and there's only one person who'd have the clout to pull this off, Richard Lockwood.

I decide to put this new development in my chaotic life in the back of my mind to be dealt with later, because I still have a restaurant to run and as much as I want to curl up in a ball with a pint of Half-Baked ice cream, and watch _When Harry Met Sally_ for the millionth time, I literally can't afford to have an emotional breakdown right now. The only comforting thought that I have, is that even though this bit of gossip might not make me the most desirable date, Tyler Lockwood will most likely still want to take me to the benefit because he's a competitive twat and is still engaged in a pissing match with Damon. Even so, I still have a plan B.

After taking a quick shower, dressing in skinny jeans, my Lunch Box shirt, converse sneakers and pulling my hair into a ponytail, I throw my computer in my messenger bag and start my bike ride to the farmer's market. I almost leave my phone at home because it has been going off all morning. Jeremy called. Uncle John called. Tyler texted me a picture of his bowtie with a thumbs up emoji. Aloof asshat. Damon called, texted, and threatened to come over if I didn't respond, and for the first time since I've met him, he didn't follow through with a threat.

Luckily, nobody gives a shit at the farmer's market about local gossip, because I'm able to buy everything I need and the local vendors are still really nice. Sal my fruit guy brought in cherries from Watsonville, and I bought a few pints to put in a salad with goat cheese and pistachios. I can also make a mean cherry turnover with them, if I have time to make an ice cream base.

With everything that's happened this morning, it's hard to believe that it's only 8:30 by the time I get to the restaurant, with sacks of produce on each side of the handle bars. I park my bike in the back and see Pete's truck in the drive. Seeing me struggle to carry everything inside, he grabs the bags while I unlock the kitchen.

"Thanks Pete," I say, slightly breathless from the bike ride.

"No problem, Elena," he replies walking in and placing my groceries on the stainless steal counter in the kitchen, while I hold the door open.

"I've got some great mahi-mahi for your fish tacos," he says while I turn on the oven and all the burners.

"That's great, Pete. I'll also take a few sides of salmon and a ten pounds of large prawns, if you have them," I say while unloading groceries.

Pete walks out to his truck and starts bringing in the fish. I walk over to my bag and get out my checkbook, ready for his invoice. As he walks in, the usual Tuesday deliveries start to arrive, and suddenly it's a bustling morning, where my mind can concentrate on the business, as opposed to rumors and money problems.

Later, Ben and Scotty walk in, looking somber, which makes me uneasy, so I do something that I haven't done in a while. I turn on music and start dancing. Moving and twisting around the kitchen, holding a french rolling pin, I grab the bowl of now risen dough and get to work.

Scotty and Ben look at me as if I've been possessed, singing along to Madonna's _Like a Prayer_ , using the rolling pin as a microphone. "When you call my name," I sing directly to them. "It's like a little prayer. I'm down on my knees," I get on my knees. "I wanna take you there. In the midnight hour I can feel your power. Just like a prayer you know I'll take you there."

They start chuckling as I get up and lift my hands in the air dancing around them, shaking my ass. "Come on you guys! Haven't you heard? I love to party," I sing as the music slows.

Catching on, Scotty spins me around and dips me as Holiday comes on. Ben catches my other arm and lifts me up in the air, spinning. When he let's me down, I burst into a fit of giggles.

"Crazy Gilbert," Ben says. "Let's get to work, Scotty."

I walk over and turn off the music. "Look," I say. "Don't believe anything you've read. It's all lies. The restaurant will always be here."

Scotty and Ben exchange looks. "You're family, Gilbert. We won't let anything happen to you."

His words make me tear up, so I just smile in reply and nod. "I'll get started on the front."

I walk into the front of the house and start dusting and cleaning until Suz arrives. I was worried that Suz would pester me about the rumors, but she just slaps me in the ass and tells me she's got it from here, which is when I usually go down stairs and work on bills and entering items into Quickbooks, since I'm going back to my old way of doing accounting. I'm in the middle of entering the bills from our alcohol vendor in Napa, when Emma calls.

"Hey, Emma!"

"Elena Gilbert, do I need to slap some sense into you?" she yells.

I sigh. "You saw the pictures."

"I saw the pictures," she echoes. "I know one is from high school, but Elena, should you really be going out and getting wasted right now?"

"Emma, those were staged," I reply.

"Staged?"

"I was roofied that night. I think the connection between the pictures and the fact that I was slipped a pill on the same night are a little too ironic, don't you think?"

"But how would they have known you'd go to a club?"

I put my head in my hands. "I have no clue. Maybe I was being followed and they were waiting for the right moment?"

I can almost hear Emma thinking. "It was at Damon's club," she says skeptically.

"I know. Believe me, I haven't forgotten."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lie. "How are you? How's the house doing?"

I hear Emma take a deep breath. "We have a buyer and they're paying all cash up front. You just have to be out of the house in a month and I'll have your money when required inspections are completed."

I nod to myself. "Wow, that was fast."

Much faster than I had anticipated but I needed the money as soon as possible and Emma does her job well.

"The cottage is on prime real estate and it was a private listing. People who buy off of private listings are either real estate moguls or extremely wealthy and have cash to spend."

"I don't want to know anything about the person who bought it" I reply. "I don't want to know if they have kids, or if they're just buying it to tear it down and start from scratch. Just get me my money so I can pay the taxes, and I'll be out of there," I pause. "Did you find me anything?"

"Oh, there's a lot out there. You'll have plenty of money left over to get a condo, so just let me know what you're looking for and I'll narrow the results," she states.

I think about if for a moment. "A two bedroom, two bath somewhere near the beach. Not in Balboa, but in either Newport Coast or Corona Del Mar."

"I'll see what I can do and we'll go look at a few listings."

Sounds like a nightmare. "I've gotta go, Emma. Thank you for all your help."

"Stay out of trouble and out of the local tabloids," she jokes.

"Too soon, Emma," I laugh as I hang up.

I run upstairs and hear arguing from the kitchen.

"Get out," Scotty yells.

"I need to see her," Damon growls.

"She has enough to deal with, right now," Ben retorts.

"Dude, you're stressing her out," Brody says. Brody never says anything. He usually has his ear buds in and keeps to himself near the dishes. This is serious.

I don't want to talk to Damon, but if I don't intervene soon, there's going to be a fight, and although Damon is strong, I know for a fact Ben and Scotty get into brawls on a regular basis and they fight dirty.

I walk through the swinging door, and lock eyes with Damon in a three piece steel grey suit and coal black tie. God, he looks beautiful. Beautiful is the only way to describe the way his pants are perfectly tailored to show off the length of his muscular legs and ass. He unbuttons the top button of his jacket in frustration as he tries to get through to me. The boys try to stop him, but I shake my head.

"It's fine," I yell, trying to get their full attention, because right now they look like they're ready to kick ass. "He won't be here for long. I can handle it."

I motion for Damon to follow me. Seeing Suz in the serving area, I tell her to open in five and I'll be up shortly thereafter.

I head downstairs to my office so Damon and I can have privacy. Damon remains quiet, and I realize that maybe he came here to talk to me, but has no clue what to say. He's in for a shock, because I'm angry and pissed and he came at a bad time. I wasn't in the mood for his games. It was time to turn the tables, so to speak

I push him on the leather couch. Damon's lip quirks, and I lean down to kiss it lightly right where it curves upward, while skillfully unbuttoning his jacket at the same time. I place my right knee on the couch, going in for a longer and deeper kiss. Damon meets my kiss by thrusting his tongue in my mouth and sucks on my lips, I groan and move my left leg over him, straddling him. His hands move to my lower back, pressing me closer to him as I move my hands behind his neck, deepening out kiss. Damon grunts in the most animalistic way, as I place both hands on his shoulders, pushing him away from me. I have him trapped. Perfect.

"Now that I have your full attention, I need some information from you," I state.

Damon glares at me. I rotate my hips, feeling his hardened cock beneath me. I definitely have his attention. I rotate my hips again as I lean down and whisper in his ear.

"Are you going to be a good boy and answer my questions, or are you going to pout like a petulant child?" I ask, licking right behind his ear and nipping at the soft part of his ear lobe.

I move to face him. His eyes are hooded and he looks dazed. He lazily nods.

"You are a Founding Family member and you didn't tell me. Why?" I ask, resting comfortable on his lap, making direct eye contact with him.

Damon sighs. "Being a Founding Family member yourself, I thought you knew. When it seemed like you didn't know, I didn't tell you because I knew you would think that an old family rivalry is the reason I would…," he pauses. "Want to take you out."

Want to take me out? Hmmm…..somehow I think there's more, so I swirl my hips once more, grinding up against him. Damon's breath hitches. "Try again," I say.

"I didn't tell you I'm a Founding Family member because there's an old rivalry between the Lockwood's and the Salvatore's," he restates. "It's because Guiseppe Salvatore II and Jacob Lockwood fought over the same woman, Maria Gilbert, Jonathan's sister," he sighs like he's repeating the story for the hundredth time. "The story goes, they were both young and friends. Maria Gilbert and her family moved to Newport and settled here, and they both fell in love with her. She was a young teacher and was trying to start a school for all the local children, until she died tragically in a fire. Guiseppe Salvatore was blamed, and forced out of the community, so he settled Laguna Beach."

"The Lockwood's blamed him," I take a deep breath. It was a weird coincidence, but I have never been in love with Tyler Lockwood, so he had nothing to worry about. Except that I'm going to the benefit with him. Shit. I shake my head, deciding to not tell him because it's none of his business, even though I do feel a slight pang of guilt.

"You should've told me," I say. He nods in reply.

"Okay, next question," I straighten so I'm making eye contact with him again. "I saw the picture of you playing Legos and you had a miniature version of The Lunch Box. You've been here before, and it made enough of an impact on you to build a small version of it in your room."

I see color flush Damon's cheeks. "My Dad took me here when I was a kid, and your mom was always kind. We stopped going when Stefan and I started spending summers at various camps."

This takes me completely by surprise, and I can't help myself before I utter, "Did you see me?"

Damon gives me a boyish grin. "You were maybe three or four. You had a half apron on and were running around the place like you owned it," Damon laughs at the memory. "You actually told one table what to order, and they listened to you. Sometimes your mom would hold you on her hip and let you tell people the specials. They loved it."

Emotion catches me off guard and I swallow back tears before they spring out. I needed to regain control, so I take Damon's face in my hands and lean in for another kiss. Damon grips my ass, tucking me in closer to him. His hands glides from the curve of my ass to underneath my shirt. The heat of his hands on the sensitive skin on my back causes warmth to bleed through me. I deepen the kiss, but Damon pulls away from me. I catch his lip and nip it as he moves from my lips to my neck, making slow ministrations on the soft curve of my clavicle. Before it goes too far, I muster all my will to push him back with both hands on his shoulders, causing him to grunt like he's in pain.

"I'm not done yet," I say. "Next question, and this is a big one, so you'd better be honest."

He silently nods. "Why did you start running with me? It's too coincidental that the moment my life truly goes to shit, you enter my life and seem to be linked to all of said shit."

Damon takes a deep breath as if he knew this was coming. "I saw you running one morning, and I thought I'd join you. I enjoyed it, so I decided to continue. Then, when I came into the restaurant, I knew you were the little girl with the big brown eyes, charming everyone lucky enough to come across her."

I eye him skeptically. "There's more," I say. "Did you have someone roofie me and take pictures at your club?"

Damon sincerely looks appalled and pushes me completely off of him so I'm lying on the couch and he's now standing up. "Elena, how could you even think I'd do that? The moment I saw someone put their disgusting hands on you, I lost it. I'd never put you in that kind vulnerable position."

I stand up and approach him, pointing my finger at his firm chest. "So you had nothing to do with it?"

"No," he states. He buttons up his jacket and starts going upstairs.

"Why did you come to the restaurant today?" I yell at him.

He turns around, his eyes blazing. "To see if you were okay , and clearly you are."

I put my hands on my hips. "Not so fun being sexually manipulated, is it?"

Damon cocks and eyebrow and flashes a grin. "Oh, Elena. I had a lot of fun. Feel free to sexually manipulate me anytime."

I scoff. "Perv!" I yell as I follow Damon upstairs. "I'm not done with you."

Damon turns around and strides back downstairs towards me. He gets so close, it causes me to back up against the stairwell wall, simply pinning me there with his long torso. I can feel his heart race as he looks down on me like I'm prey he's about to devour. My breathing shallows as he rests his forehead against mine.

Purposefully avoiding my lips, and dipping down kissing just below my jaw, then lower to my neck and he hits _the_ spot. The sensitive part of my neck that when given appropriate attention, turns me to liquid. I let out breathy sighs as Damon continues to drive me insane. My hands wander beneath his jacket and claw at him, trying to bring him closer to me, when he lets go and backs up, leaving cool emptiness in his wake as he climbs back up the stairs.

"I'm not done with _you_ , Elena Gilbert," he says, leaving me standing like an idiot on the stairs. The fucking bastard got the last word.

I attempt to compose myself by wiping my mouth and redoing my ponytail, but it doesn't work. I'm frazzled and I have to go upstairs and deal with customers.

After I tie on a half apron and grab a pad to write down orders, I walk out front. We've been open for a half hour and it's dead. Once upon a time, not long ago, there'd be a line outside the door, and now there's only a couple of tables. Suz leans on the counter in the front with a bored expression on her face.

"What's going on?" I ask. "Is there a town event I forgot about?"

"Nope, we're dead."

My eyebrows furrow, there's no way that article or the rumors would effect business. Good food, is good food, and people come for the food, not necessarily for the service. "Suz, google the restaurant. Not my name, but The Lunch Box," she shrugs and gets out her phone.

"I wouldn't worry, Elena. It's a Tuesday. We're bound to be dead slow at least one day in the year," she remarks as she searches the restaurant. I watch her face as she reads the results. "It's a bunch of stuff about you being a drug whore."

"Hey," I reply. "Watch it."

Slowly, her face goes ghostly white. "What is it?" I ask.

"Fuck, Elena. This isn't good," she says, handing me her phone.

I look at the screen. It's our Yelp review, which is usually a 4.5 rating, now a 1. I scroll down to look at the reviews, and it looks like within the past few days, the site was slammed with negative ratings, about how our environment was unsanitary and the food has gone downhill. There are even pictures, manipulated to look like I'm serving food that looks like it came from a school cafeteria. Someone even had the nerve to post pictures of our actual food, but added globs of dirt, making it look like we didn't wash our lettuce or a long brown hair or a bug in someone's soup. I'm so floored, I actually sit on the ground with my legs crossed and try to think.

Between the Yelp reviews and the photos of me at the club, there's some obvious media slamming going on. Is Richard Lockwood this desperate to buy the restaurant? Why? It's a question that's been circulating in my brain for the past twenty-four hours. I needed to find Evan and I needed to get into the Lockwood's company or at the very least, Tyler's emails.

I hear Sam call from the kitchen. "Yo, fish tacos order up."

I get to my feet and tell Suz that I'll run the order. I grab the three orders of fish tacos, skillfully balancing all the plates on two arms, and walk it out to a table on the patio. None of the people in the restaurant are regulars, all new people. Possibly tourists, but the business attire tells me otherwise. I hand the plate to a balding gentleman in a dark brown suit and smile. Everyone at the table looks at me, gaping. I smile sweetly, knowing exactly why they're gaping and place the rest of the fish tacos in front of the other businessmen.

As I walk back, I go to a new table and take their order. Suz has delivered their drinks and they have a bread basket. They're digging into the popovers with strawberry butter as I walk over, menus tossed aside, a clear sign they're ready to order. "Good afternoon," I say. "What can I get you today?"

A gentleman in a Tommy Bahamas flowery shirt with grey hairs sticking out is the first to speak. His eyes brighten as he unabashedly looks me up and down. "I'd like you to get rid of your shirt and give me a lap dance," he bellows, laughingly.

The few customers that we have in the restaurant turn to look at me. A mother, feeding her child in a high chair glares at me. Instead of being embarrassed, I smirk. "This isn't that kind of establishment," I say. "If you want a lap dance, I have live lobsters in the back. I'd be happy to place a few on your lap."

His friends let out barking laughter, while the man that threw the insult looks peeved. A gentleman that looks like he could be his brother, speaks for the table. "Don't mind him, sweetie. We'll get four plates of fish tacos and another round of Newport Storms."

"Coming right up," I reply.

I check on the woman with the toddler and apologize before I walk into the back and deliver the order. Ben looks at the ticket and frowns. "Another fish taco," he says.

"Is that a problem?" I ask. They are a popular item on the menu.

"Well," he says, rubbing his neck. "We've mainly been getting orders for the fish tacos, and we're running out of mahi-mahi."

"That's fine. We can use the salmon when we run out. You just need to whip up some cilantro lime slaw, except add more honey in the dressing and black sesame seeds." It's not rare that we'll have the rare day when one thing is ordered more often than anything else on the menu.

Ben walks to the walk in and starts preparing the salmon. I walk back out and try to keep busy, not thinking about the fact that we are dead slow. It had to be a fluke. Locals wouldn't pay attention to Yelp reviews, but they may pay attention to slander. I'm on my way back to the kitchen to grab more beers for a table, when I hear screaming coming from the front end of the restaurant.

The group of men are doubled over puking in nearby pots. Several people tried to run to the bathroom, but didn't make it in time. I'm frozen, I have no clue what to do. I'm about to call an ambulance, when someone walks in and tries to get my attention. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Ms. Elena Gilbert," says a short and thin man, wearing a short sleeved white dress shirt tucked into acid washed jeans.

"I'm Elena," I say.

He walks over and shakes my hand. "My name is Tucker Smith. I'm here from the health department to do an inspection."

I have about ten people puking their guts out, just as the health department comes in. Fuck. I can do this. I can hold myself together for another hour. "It's nice to meet you," I say directing him away from the sick patrons. "Suz, will you take Mr. Smith to the kitchen."

While Suz takes him to the kitchen, I walk to the customers. "I'm calling an ambulance," I say. "I'll bring over some more napkins and club soda, just hang tight."

Nobody says anything, they're too busy expelling whatever made them sick. I was going to have to call a cleaning crew to do a deep clean before tomorrow's service. I walk back and call 911, explaining what happened. Then I text Suz, and tell her to keep Tucker away from the front end of the restaurant.

Carrying a tray of clean wet wash cloths, and glasses of club soda, I make the rounds. I feel like a nurse during the Civil War, tending to the sick. People are now on the floor, writhing. I hear someone moan, "I shouldn't have listened to them and come."

It's a girl in her twenties, who's leaning on her knees, dry heaving into a bucket I placed there ten minutes ago. "What do you mean, _you shouldn't have listened to them_?" I ask.

She just looks at me and shakes her head. I practically sprint to the register and look at the tickets. Everyone paid in cash today. That's extremely rare. I'm looking through all the receipts for fish tacos, when Tucker walks out to see me.

"Ms. Gilbert," he says. "I'm afraid…."

Paramedics walk in. Paramedics walk in just as Tucker Smith from the health department was about to tell me something. The first paramedic in a blue suit, carrying a kit approaches me while the other's run to the sick patrons. "Elena Gilbert, I need to ask you a few questions."

"What's going on here?" Tucker asks.

I look from the extremely cute paramedic to the representative from the heath department and literally want to disapparate to the Burrow or anywhere not in this world. I remain frozen for a solid minute, when I decide to tell the truth. "We just got in a mahi-mahi order today, and people seem to be having a reaction to it," I tell both of them.

"That's because the mahi-mahi is bad, Ms. Gilbert. I checked the temperature of what you had left, and it's spoiled. Sometimes with mahi-mahi, you can't smell it when it goes bad," he states.

The paramedic pipes in. "Then your patrons have scombroid food poisoning. They should be fine in a couple days, but we'll bring them to the hospital to get checked out."

"I am going to have to shut you down until we get to the bottom of what happened. You have a near perfect track record, so I'm sure you'll be fine. The health department wants to work with you, so you can provide a healthy and safe environment for your patrons and employees," Tucker says. "I have a list of things I need you to do, and I'll be back to check on your establishment in seventy-six hours."

He hands me a paper, and I look at the list. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. I can have Brody, Ben and Scotty do most of these things, while we close. Suz can work on the front end. I can pay everyone from the money I get from selling the cottage. I had liability insurance, which would cover the cost of taking the ten or so patrons that had food poisoning to the hospital. Everything will be fine. Just fine.

I actually thank God we were slow, as I watch people being rolled out on stretchers to the ambulance. Then, I see television crews swarm the front entrance. Women with perfect unmoving blonde hair stand in front of cameras holding microphones, capturing sick customers being rolled into ambulances. I was going to be on the six o'clock news and I was royally fucked. My only saving grace was that most customers were too sick to talk.

Once all of the patrons are gone, I lock the front door, ignoring the approaching cameras and journalists asking for a comment. I walk to the kitchen with the list that the health department guy gave me and prepare to talk to the staff, when Brody, Ben, Scotty and Suz corner me.

"What's going on?" Suz asks.

"Everything is going to be fine, you guys. I have a list of things that need to get done, and we'll be back open before you know it," I try to say cheerfully.

They glare at me. "We want to help. How are we going to help if you refuse to talk to us?" Suz continues. The other's nod in agreement.

I sigh and rub my face with my hands before saying anything. "Customers got sick off of the mahi-mahi. The health department shut us down for a few days. Our Yelp rating is now a 1. The media has painted me as a druggy slut that's bankrupting the restaurant," I quickly say.

"Pete just delivered the mahi-mahi today," Ben says.

"I know. I don't know how it could be bad. I was going to go down to the docks and talk to him today."

"Our Yelp rating is usually a 5," Scotty comments.

"4.5," I reply. "I check that site regularly, so we must have been slammed with negative reviews in the past two days."

"I can get them deleted for you, if you want," Brody says. For the second time today, Brody takes me by surprise.

"You know how to do that?" I ask.

"I'll email the site and get it taken care of. If that doesn't work, I have other ways," he says.

"You're a hacker?" Suz asks, equally surprised.

Brody squints at both of us. "I wouldn't exactly use that term. I'd rather call myself a technological vigilante."

I hold back a laugh. "Okay, Brody, you're on Yelp duty."

They all continue to look at me expectantly. "Everything is going to be fine," I echo from earlier. "You all still have jobs. The restaurant isn't going anywhere." I turn to Ben and Scotty. "I need all the food thrown out and the entire walk in scrubbed and bleached." I turn to Suz. "I'll call cleaners to disinfect the front, but I need you to clean up as much as you can. Especially the servers station. I don't want to give the health department any excuse to shut us down any longer than they have to," I pause. "We'll have a cleaning day tomorrow. I'll turn on music and buy everyone lunch. It'll be fun."

They look at me skeptically, but it's Ben who saves me from more dead silence. "Sounds like a plan," he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

Once everyone has a list of duties for the next day, they set to work on cleaning up for the afternoon before they leave. I walk out front to the register, and close it out. Everyone that ordered mahi-mahi paid in cash. Why? So I can't trace them? Question them? I could try through hospital records, but they could easily be sealed or use false names, since I'm the one footing the bill. The Lunch Box is a limited liability company, meaning they can't sue me directly, but I'd probably have to add lawyering up to my list of things to do.

Pete has never sold me bad fish. His whole service is catching and selling the same day. It could have been a mistake, but something nags at me. He was the one that told me my checks bounced. I decide to call Kristy from the bank, and see if she has a list of checks that bounced. Maybe Pete was pissed because his checks bounced? Maybe I owed him more than he said and he's upset.

After being on hold for ten minutes, I finally hear Kristy's sing song voice.

"Good afternoon, Elena. How may I help you?" she asks.

"Hey, Kristy. I was wondering if you had a list of checks that bounced when Evan was in charge of the account," I ask.

"Let me look at your account," she replies. After giving her all the required information, my bank account number and my social, I'm put on hold forced to listen to the Beach Boys for a few minutes while she looks through the account.

When she comes back, I hear the hesitation in her voice. "Elena, none of your checks bounced. Because you've been a customer of the bank since we opened, we covered all the checks you wrote, even in delinquency. The bank closed the account when it remained delinquent and we suspected fraudulent activity," she says.

This doesn't make sense. Pete said that his checks bounced. He's been a loyal vendor since the 80's, and even before then, his father was a vendor. Why would he lie?

"Did checks go through for _Pacific Pete_?" The check I wrote last week was from my personal account, so it wouldn't show up. Pete somehow knew that I wouldn't check on the account.

"Not since last month," Kristy replies.

Maybe Pete lost the checks. I needed to see him, and if I hurry, I can catch him at the docks before he goes home.

"Thanks for your help," I tell her.

"No problem Elena. Please let me know if there's anything else I can do."

I disconnect, and see that I see that I missed a text message from Damon.

Damon: You still owe me a date. I'm picking you up from the Box at 7.

I look at my watch. It's 6:45. Shit. I quickly text him back.

Me: Can't. Busy.

Damon replies right away.

Damon: Too late.

Damn. I had to get out of here before he arrives. I run downstairs and throw my things in my messenger bag. I slide it over my shoulders and turn out the lights downstairs. When I arrive upstairs, I'm relieved that everyone has already left. I lock everything up and run out the back door. 6:57. Barely made it. I hop on my bike and head to the docks off Balboa. It takes me a half hour to get there, and it starts to get dark.

Once upon a time, my mother used to actually get the fish from Pete himself on the docks, before he started doing deliveries. She took me a few times, because I liked to look at all of the boats bobbing up and down in the water. Pete has a few boats, and they're all called Pacific Pete 1, 2 or 3. I've bugged Pete about it, because I really think being a fishing boat captain, your boat should have a good name, like The Sea Mermaid, but Pete just laughed and said his way was easier for business.

I park my bike on the street and start to head over to Pete's boats, when I see a group of four men leave one of his boats carrying a couple of coolers of fish. I've never seen the men before, and they don't look like they're from here. They all look similar; burly and bald wearing wife beaters that show off their various tattoos that cover their whole body; black cargo pants and heavy boots. As they walk away from the boat, I check to see if the coast is clear, and run to the Pacific Pete 1.

Against better judgement, I hop the gate and walk on board to see if Pete's there. It smells strongly of salt, bad fish and diesel. I don't know how Pete does it every day, honestly. I walk past the large fishing net, and peak into the window of the cabin, but I don't see anyone there. I start to head back off the boat when I hear a group of voices.

"We're upping the number of pick ups you make from Ensenada, Pete," says a voice I recognize. I crouch behind the giant nets and large plastic barrels, hoping that, combined with the night sky will cover me. I peak to see if I can get a better look. Richard Lockwood is standing on the dock talking to Pete. Pete looks tired and scared.

"That's not possible, Mr. Lockwood. I still have my regular deliveries to make, and I can't catch enough fish for my customers as it is," Pete pleads.

I watch through the netting, as the men from ten minutes ago come back. Richard motions to them. "Pacific Pete says that he can't make the required pick ups and deliveries."

The men move forward and I bite my knuckles to keep from screaming. I hear guttural noises from Pete as they lay in on him, until he's crouched on the ground, shouting for them to stop, saying he'll comply. I'm about to run out and help him, when there's a loud crash, causing everyone to stop and turn the direction of the noise.

A man in a suit runs up to Richard. "Someone's run into your car, and drove off," he says.

Richard looks enraged, but momentarily distracted from Pete. "Did you see who it was?"

The man shakes his head. "We were making sure the product was secured, so deliveries could go out."

"Jorge, stay with Pete. Make sure he doesn't have second thoughts and gets home," Richard orders to one of the larger bald men, with an intricate tattoo of a crucifix on his arm. Ironic.

I stay low as I watch Richard move away towards his car, and Jorge take Pete toward Pacific Pete 3. When it seems like I'm free, I stay crouched low, and leave the boat, practically sprinting off the docks and towards my bike, when someone grabs my arm and clamps his hands around my mouth, pulling me to the side of a nearby building.

"That's her bike," says one of Richard's goons, walking past. "It has a small blue California license plate on it that says, Elena."

Shit. The man holding me pulls me in tighter, keeping me from moving or making any noise. I recognize the strong arms and the deliciously distinctive smell of clean linen and sweat. Damon.

"She's here somewhere," Richard says, anger filling his voice. "Find her."

Damon doesn't let me go until Richard and his goons go in opposite directions. He removes his hand from my mouth, but puts his index finger to his lips, telling me to stay quiet. I watch him get out his phone and text something. He moves it so I can see. It's a text message to Felix. _We're meeting you on Bay Front, in front of warehouse A_.

Damon locks eyes with me, making sure I understand. I nod. Still holding onto my arm, we run in the opposite direction of Richard, snaking through buildings, until we get to the black BMW sedan. Felix opens the door, and Damon practically throws me in, without following. Instead, he shuts the door and talks to Felix, and then leaves.

Felix gets in and starts the car, pulling out and driving back towards Newport.

"Felix, what's going on?" I ask.

"Mr. Salvatore had to take care of his car. He told me to take you home," Felix states politely in his thick accent.

"Why would he have to take care of his car?" I ask. Seems like an odd thing to do at this time of day, especially after everything that's happened.

"It was wrecked, he's getting it fixed," Felix replies.

The noise that distracted Richard. "Damon ran into Richard Lockwood's car."

"I'm not at liberty to say."

I open my messenger bag and search for my phone. No new phone calls. No new texts.

I'm silent for most of the ride until Felix pulls into my driveway. Before opening my door, I hear a brief conversation.

"She's home, sir."

"Yes, I'll have someone on it."

Felix unlocks my door and walks with me to the door. "You don't have to walk me to the door," I tell Felix.

"I'm under orders, Miss." Felix says.

We awkwardly walk up to the porch, and I open my front door thanking Felix for the ride. Inside the cottage, I throw my keys in the bowl and lay my bag on the couch. I look at my phone and there's a text message from Damon. _Lock all of your doors and stay home. Don't leave._

I don't even roll my eyes, I just sigh. Frustrated, I walk to the fridge to grab a bottle of wine. I had a feeling tonight was going to be another restless one.


	9. Chapter 9: Oh, and It's Breaking Over Me

Author's Note: Hi Everyone! Thank you so much for the encouraging and enthusiastic reviews. I'm really having fun writing this fic. This chapter took a little longer to write because it required a bit of research and I've been working full time. However, the updates will be more frequent this week. In this chapter, we learn a little bit more about Damon and what the Lockwoods are up to. Elena has a lot of guilt over how she's responded to grief in the past, and her part in her parents death, so in a way, she feels like she deserves everything that's happening to her. Damon came into her life, and is helping her see it differently. This chapter really reflects that. I hope you enjoy :) Jackie

Chapter 9: Oh, and It's Breaking Over Me

 _"Come on, Caroline," I say, motioning for her to join me while swaying to The All-American Rejects, sporadically shouting out random lyrics while dancing barefoot on the sand around a bonfire. "When you see my face hope it gives you hell, hope it gives you hell!" I shout to the void._

 _Tyler walks up behind me and grabs me by the waist, moving along with me while I dance. He hands me a joint and I take a long drag while I dance and hand it back to him. My whole body humming along with the music. People are laughing as we dance and shout out lyrics, especially when Tyler yells at the top of his lungs, "When you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well, Then he's a fool, you're just was well, hope it gives you hell."_

 _He reaches down from behind me and kisses my neck, his other hand snaking beneath my loose cropped tank top, massaging my breast over my bikini, as I rest against his chest and continue to move to the music._

 _I look back at Caroline, who has the world's most judgmental look on her face. But she doesn't get to judge. She can go, I don't need a babysitter._

 _"Elena Gilbert!" she yells. "You're throwing your life in the gutter and I can't watch you do it anymore."_

 _I glare at her, and instead of going with her, I take the bullet vile of coke hanging around Tyler's neck, open the cap and making sure there's enough powder on there, snort it in one nostril, using Tyler as support while I let the effects numb any pain._

 _Tyler leans to my ear and whispers, "That was so fucking hot, babe," as I watch tears spring from Caroline's eyes as she storms off. My focus turns to the licking flames of the bonfire and the embers that fly and float through the night sky._

XXXXXX

"Rise and shine Sleeping Beauty," says a cheerful voice right next to me, waking me up from actually getting sleep last night. Scared, I open my eyes and accidentally slap Damon in my surprise, who's resting comfortably beside me with his hands behind my head.

"Damon!" I yell, attempting to cover the thin pink tank top I'm wearing with my blanket.

"If I see something I've never seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it," he says ruefully.

I purposefully slap him in the arm. "Ouch," he says in mock pain.

"How did you get in here?" I ask.

"My security team is on it," he says, as if everyone has a security team in their back pocket.

"The point of having security is that they are supposed to protect from intrusion, you just broke in," I admonish.

"Be grateful, you now have a target on your back."

I roll my eyes. "I already had a target on my back. Don't know if you saw 10 o'clock news report from outside the Lunch Box about a massive bout of food poisoning or _all_ the photos from yesterday."

Damon smirks. "Oh, I saw the photos. I particularly enjoyed the one of you in your underwear."

I smack him again. "I was in high school."

Damon gets up and walks over to my dresser. He opens a drawer and throws a pair of folded jeans on the bed, then he finds a black tank top and throws that on top of the jeans, then he looks through my top drawer and pulls out a red lace bra and inspects it with a smile on his face. Not caring that my nipples totally show in my camisole, I walk up and grab it from him, irritated.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, grabbing my bra from him, and almost shutting his fingers in the drawer.

"We're going on a trip," he states.

Ugh. "Damon, I can't go to Italy with you, I kind of have a lot to deal with at the moment."

He turns around and gives me that look. The look that tells me he's about to get what he wants; that he knows something. His lip quirks up. "We're going on a road trip," he says, walking over to my closet and pulling out a day bag. It's startling how well he knows my room, but he did put me in my pajamas last week. The thought gives me chills that I immediately force myself to shake off.

I look at him skeptically. "No, we're not," I reply, folding my arms.

He's filtering through my clothes, pulling items off hangers and folding it into the bag. It's entertaining to watch, because he's so fucking anal about the way he folds the items and places them in the pack.

I take a grey hoodie out of of one of my drawers and put it on while Damon works. "I told you, I'm not going on a road trip with you. I have to meet the guys at the restaurant and get the place ready for inspection."

He turns around. "Do you have an evening dress? You might need it. Nothing fancy, maybe something sleeveless and black."

I try to grab the bag from his hands, but he moves it out of my reach. "You know what, I take it back," he says moving to my bathroom. "I can buy you one."

"Damon, stop," I shout, now irritated. "I cannot go on a road trip with you."

Damon leans against the doorframe to my bathroom and inspects me. He places the bag on the counter and strides towards me. He stops so we're barely touching, standing face to face. My breathing shallows. He reaches down and unzips the hoodie, then moves his hand inside the jacket, up the length of my side, and playfully pads my nipples with his thumb, while the other hand holds me in place, causing me to let out a quiet shaky moan. My gaze trails up his body to the bow of his lips, to his long eyelashes until we've locked eyes.

"I found Evan," he whispers.

"What?"

"The jackass frat boy that stole thousands from you, Evan Ward. I found him," he says shrugging his shoulders and backing away so he can continue to pack.

"I know who Evan is, Damon. I meant how did you find him?"

Damon proceeds to put my inspect my bathroom drawers, lining my hair brush, make up bag and toothbrush on the counter to later be packed into a bathroom duffle. "I did some digging."

Is this supposed to make any sense? "He wasn't hard to find," Damon adds. "The idiot was posting on Instagram under a very easy to find private account."

I sit on my bed, letting Damon pack because he's surprisingly good at it. "Where is he?"

Damon turns around, and actually looks apologetic. "Can't tell you. You're going to have to trust me."

I scoff. "I'm not going unless you tell me where we're going."

"Elena, if I tell you, how do I know that you're not going to go off on your own?"

" _Damon_ ," I mock. "I don't have time to play games." I walk to my dresser and grab one of my Lunch Box shirts and leggings. "I have to get to work."

Damon tugs the shirt out of my hands, as I'm on my way to the bathroom and drapes his hand over the doorway blocking me from entering. "The restaurant is being taken care of. Your staff has the day off and it'll be inspection ready by the time the health department arrives. I have my people on it."

My brows furrow. "How did you…"

"I talked to Ben, and I guessed the rest. You forget that when it comes to business, I know how the Lockwoods operate."

I shake my head. "You shouldn't have done that. I don't need your help, Damon."

Damon shrugs. "I was being selfish, because I want you to take you on a little road trip to catch sleazy Evan."

"Tell me where he is," I demand.

"No. Just trust me, Elena. What do you have to lose?"

"Everything. Tell me where he is," I echo.

Damon folds his arms and shakes his head. I'm in a bit of a pickle. I don't want Damon to get away with not telling me where he is, but I also want to find Evan, question him, kick his ass, and get my money back, not necessarily in that order. Damon was right, though. I would've gone on my own, simply because there's no way he'll let me approach and question Evan on my own. I wouldn't be surprised if he has his security apes do everything and not even let me talk to him.

"I'll go with you on one condition." Damon looks at me skeptically. "I'll go, if you let me question Evan…"

"Fine," Damon interrupts. "Let's go."

"No, Damon. I want to question him _alone,"_ I pause, letting the words sink into his stubborn skull. "That's the only way I'll go."

"Not going to happen," Damon says. "I'm not letting you be with him by yourself. It's too dangerous."

"What is he going to do? I'm not saying that you can't be there, I just want time with him without you there hovering."

Damon stands with his arms folded, and narrows his eyes at me. "All right."

I finish packing, take a long shower, and change into jean shorts and a worn blue v-neck tee shirt. After lightly blowing dry my hair, I pull it into a high bun and put moisturizer on. I slip into my converse sneakers, grab my phone and bags. Damon meets me in the hallway wearing a black henley and dark wash jeans that fit him in a way that shows off his spectacular ass.

"See something you like?" Damon asks, smirking.

And just like that, he ruins the moment. "Not particularly."

Damon walks up and relieves me of my bag. "Liar," he mocks.

He puts the bags in the back of a new black Porsche Cayenne. "What happened to the Aston Martin?" I ask while getting into the car.

"It's in the shop," he replies, getting in the driver's seat. Then I remember last night, and how Damon conveniently showed up.

"From last night," I say. "You were the one that ran into Richard's car."

Damon puts on a pair of Ray-Band aviators and starts the ignition. "More like, backed into his car."

"How did you know I was there?"

"I saw you biking out of the parking lot of the restaurant. You seemed like you were in a hurry to get somewhere, and knowing the day you had, I decided to follow."

"Stalker," I joke.

"I told you I was coming. Stalkers don't usually give a heads up."

I turn to look at him, and place my hand on his and squeeze. "I'm glad you followed," I say, looking into his eyes.

I see a shadow of a smile as he pulls out of the driveway. We hit the 405 and I know we're going south, towards San Diego. Shortly after we're on the road, I start bugging Damon about coffee because he woke me up so freaking early and I'm desperate. He pulls into a Starbucks in San Juan Capistrano. "Hot Venti Vanilla Latte with two extra shots and coconut milk," I tell him.

"Can you order something more complicated?" he says sarcastically, getting out of the car.

"I'd go in myself, but I need to call my Uncle John without you listening in," I explain.

"Did you want anything else?" he asks, ignoring my comment and leaning against the car door.

I smile sweetly. "Nope, thank you."

When Damon goes in, I quickly dial my Uncle. He's been bugging me for the past few days, and I can't avoid him any longer.

"Elena," Uncle John says, sounding relieved.

"Hi, Uncle John. I'm sorry that I didn't call you earlier, it's been busy."

"Elena, are you sure that you can handle this? I know you were insistent when Jenna died, but we can close down the restaurant. If we sell now, you'd have enough money to do whatever you want with your life, or you can work for my company."

I knew he'd say that, he made the same proposition a couple of years ago. "I'm not giving it up. We've just hit a rough patch, but I'm figuring it out."

I can actually hear him go from calm to snippy. "You're back to using drugs, again. You're getting sloppy and insist on hiring friends. If you destroy the restaurant, you'll have nothing left, Elena."

"I'm not using drugs. Everything you've read about is a very exaggerated distortion of the truth," I say through gritted teeth.

"Who would do that?" he replies. I don't want Uncle John to know about the Lockwoods because then he'll really make me sell. John doesn't like the Lockwoods but he doesn't want to mess with the Lockwoods either. I think he'd rather sell, so he doesn't have to worry about the restaurant.

"I want you to sign the restaurant completely over to me," I tell him. "I can buy you out." Once I get the money from selling the cottage, but he doesn't need to know that.

John scoffs. "I'm not signing it over to you, especially right now. Maybe when you turn 25 and have been running things successfully for a couple more years."

"The restaurant is mine, Uncle John. The only reason you can claim partial ownership is because I was only seventeen when Jenna was diagnosed, and she wanted the restaurant protected in case anything happened," I practically yell. "It is not a Gilbert restaurant. It's a Sommers legacy."

"Elena, calm down," he admonishes.

Oh my God, I hate it when people tell me to calm down. "Don't tell me to calm down. The restaurant isn't yours. You've barely stepped foot in it, except to flirt with Aunt Jenna when my mom was looking the other way."

He sighs. "I've got to go, Elena. We'll have this conversation again when you're acting like a more rational adult."

Goddammit. I've never liked him. I hang up, practically fuming, just as Damon comes back outside, carrying two drinks and a large bag. When he enters the car, he senses my mood. "That bad, huh?" he says, handing me the Venti latte. I take a sip of the hot drink, and it soothes me like nothing else.

"Better now," I reply.

Damon hands me the bag, and it's full of pretty much everything in the bakery and refrigerated case, and smells heavenly. "Geez, did you buy out the store?" I grin, pulling out a toasted chocolate croissant.

"I didn't want to have to stop again," he replies, ripping part of the croissant in my hands off and taking a bite. I pick the croissant apart and stuff a large piece with gooey chocolate coming out the sides in my mouth. I sigh loudly in satisfaction. I really needed butter and chocolatey goodness right now.

"How's the Uncle?" Damon asks as he heads back out to the freeway.

"Still a royal dick," I state.

Damon smirks. "Want me to beat him up for you?"

I laugh. "Believe me, if I thought that would solve my problems, I'd just beat him up. I can take him."

"Is he your mother's brother or father's brother?" Damon asks.

"My dad's younger brother. He's good to Jeremy, gives him work while he's in art school, so I shouldn't complain."

Damon takes a sip of his coffee. "You're allowed to complain, Elena. You're allowed to get upset and be angry," he says. "You certainly don't mind being any of those things with me," he adds, almost as an afterthought.

"That's because you bring out the worst in me," I snap. I stuff another piece of croissant in my mouth. Why _do_ I tend to lash out at Damon, and not really anyone else?

"Or I make you feel things you've never felt before," Damon says, suggestively.

"Honestly, I don't know if I should help you or euthanize you," I retort.

Damon gives me a questioning look. "It's from Crazy, Stupid Love," I laugh.

"I've never heard of it," he replies.

I roll my eyes. "It's a romantic comedy. Came out like five years ago. Was a hit….there's this whole Dirty Dancing scene…."

Damon shakes his head. "I don't like romantic comedies. They're all the same."

Of course he doesn't like romantic comedies. "How very male of you," I retort.

"Have you ever seen Saving Private Ryan, Band of Brothers, or The Great Escape?" he says with raised eyebrows, challenging me.

"Yes," I say. "I have, and Band of Brothers is an HBO mini series." I pause to take a sip of the latte. "Why are women expected to be more well rounded than men? You can say any movie and I'll be the one that's expected to see it. I mention a romance or a romantic comedy and I get laughed at for even thinking that a guy would like it."

"I wasn't saying that women had to see action or war movies. Romantic comedies are advertised to women, because the studios know that women will be the ones to see it, whereas other genres, like action movies, are geared towards both genders," he says, taking another bite of my croissant.

"Yes, because Megan Fox and her ass showing shorts in Transformers was for most female audience members," I retort.

Damon laughs. "Let's put it to a test," I say. "You name all of the movies you've seen geared toward women, and I'll name all the movies I've seen geared towards men."

"No," Damon says. "The only thing that's going to prove, is that you've seen more movies than me."

I glare at him. "You know I'm right."

Damon ends the argument by turning on the radio. "I'm surprised this isn't synced to your blue tooth so you can turn on one of your famous playlists," I remark sarcastically.

Damon gives me a scandalized look. "Elena, part of the road trip experience is listening to crappy radio."

I shake my head. "That's completely illogical."

"Haven't you ever been on a road trip?"

"Yes, but surprisingly Damon, the mandatory use of the radio has never come up."

Damon scans for a good station, settling on an AM station playing older music. Dion & The Belmonts, _A Teenager in Love_ plays low while Damon tries to explain. "When Stefan and I were kids, our mom would drive us to Carmel for the Fourth every summer and she'd have the radio on the entire trip. There were parts of the drive where the only station that would come in was an AM talk show would come on called Car Talk or something. Stefan was five and would listen so intently, I think that's why he went into the automotive industry."

"What does he do?" I ask.

"He owns a chain of auto repair shops on the west coast."

"Huh," I say absently, looking out the window at the passing billboards advertising a McDonalds in five miles at the next rest stop.

"Why the _huh_?"

I turn to look at him. "I just didn't expect that profession. By the way you talk about him, I thought he was a doctor volunteering his spare time in the remotest parts of the world."

Damon scoffs. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that in those few moments you talk about yourself, it's usually in conjunction with your brother, and it seems like you attach any fond memory, with him, which means you love your brother a lot."

"I'm going to get off of this chaise lounge, Dr. Gilbert. I don't need to be psychoanalyzed right now," he chides.

"It doesn't take a Phd. to figure out that you love your brother, Damon. No need to act butt hurt," I retort.

Damon turns up the radio. Me thinks I hit a sore spot. Taking his blatant hint, I put on my own pair of silver Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses and lean my head against the cool window glass. We drive in silence, Damon flips between the oldies and a classic rock station, while I think about what's going to happen when I see Evan. Honestly, I want to kill him. I want to beat him senseless for conning me for the Lockwoods, but I also want to know what the fuck is going on and I want to know where my money is.

After driving for a while, Damon flips the station back to the oldies station, just when Audrey Hepburn starts singing Andy William's _Moon River_. My heart pounds as I look around at where we are. We're approaching Oceanside, right near Camp Pendleton. The spot where my world crashed into an oblivion. My breathing quickens to the point where I feel like I'm losing oxygen. My vision blurs, except for flashing images of sirens in the dead of night, and the feeling of being squished, unable to move, with blood trickling down my brow. Watching my father take my mother's hand and squeeze it, praying for a response. Not getting one.

"Damon," I gasp.

Damon looks over at me and within a second, we're pulled over at the side of the road. Once the car stops, I bound out and lean on my hands and knees for support, taking deep breaths. Damon runs over and holds me as I crumple to the ground. Cars are passing at high speeds as we just sit on the side of the road, the Porsche acting as a buffer. He gently strokes my hair as I sob into his chest, holding me close to him.

Time passes slowly until I've regained control of my breathing. "Every night when I was little, my mother would sing Moon River until I fell asleep."

I don't know what comes over me, but I start to quietly sing the words. "Moon river, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style some day. Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker. Wherever you're going, I'm going your way," my voice cracks, but as if it'll somehow heal me, I keep singing.

"Two drifters, off to the see the world, There's such a lot of world to see, We're after the same rainbow's end, waiting, round the bend, My Huckleberry Friend, Moon River and me."

Damon rubs my back encouragingly, as I continue. "Moon river, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style some day, Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker, Wherever you're going, I'm going your way. Two drifter's, off to see the world, There's such a lot of world to see. We're after that same rainbow's end, waiting, round the bend. My Huckleberry Friend, Moon River and me."

When I'm done, Damon pulls me into a hug and tenderly kisses the top of my head, and it's as if for the first time in years, a calm peace settles over me. Like the words my mother sang to me to sooth me to sleep reverberates in my soul. It doesn't completely repair the gaping hole in my heart, but it mends damage so it can eventually heal.

After a few minutes, Damon helps me to my feet, and inspecting me, he wipes my tear stained face with his thumbs. He's got that look in his face like he's thinking about something or coming to a long awaited conclusion. He takes a deep breath. "How long has it been since you've driven?"

I shake my head, knowing where this is going. "Not since the night of the accident," I croak.

He hands me the keys to the Porsche. "You're driving," he orders.

The weight of the keys cause my hands to tremble. "Damon, I can't."

"I'll be right next to you, Elena."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to know where we're going," I argue.

Damon smirks. "I'm not telling you _exactly_ where we're going."

I look at the keys as if it's a foreign object. "Damon, last time I drove, it didn't go well," I pause. "And my driver's license has expired," I add.

"What happened last time you drove?" he inquires, obviously not caring about the expired license.

"It was after my parents funeral," I say in a cracked whisper. "I was high and wrecked Aunt Jenna's jeep."

Damon chuckles. "Inappropriate," I berate, hitting him on the shoulder, but something bubbles up inside of me and I start joining in on his laughter. I guess there is a sort of dark humor there in retrospect.

"I'm starting to appreciate you more and more every day, Gilbert," Damon says, walking me to the driver's side of the Porsche. He opens the door for me to get in and secures me in my seat belt. "I appreciate this dark side of yours."

I roll my eyes. "I can buckle myself in."

Damon gropes my boobs while checking that the seatbelt is secure. "It's for your own safety."

Once Damon shuts my door, and gets in, I turn on the ignition. "Now, you're going to press down on the break, shift into drive, and once you've looked both ways, and the freeway is clear, pull into the right lane," Damon says slowly, like he's teaching a fifteen year old how to drive.

I turn to look at him, to see that he's comfortably lounged back in the passenger seat, with his sunglasses on, like he's ready to take a nap. "Are you done teasing me?"

"Nope," he replies, making an exaggerated yawn. "Drive, woman. Stay on interstate 5 until I say when."

I carefully pull onto the freeway, and continue the drive south. Damon actually falls asleep, which gives me time to get comfortable with driving again. It is like riding a bike, and I conclude that I stayed away from driving for so long, it allowed the fear to permeate in my psyche.

There are a few differences between driving right now and before the accident, like the fact that old me would've made fun of current me for refusing to go into the fast lane, but I did pat myself on the back for passing a truck and not losing my cool as we hit San Diego traffic.

In San Diego, Damon tells me to pull into a gas station so we can fuel up and use the restroom. I'm surprised that we have to travel further. I've been thinking Evan was holed up somewhere in the Mission District, which makes me, once again, wonder where Evan is. When we're both back in the car, Damon hands me a bottle of cold water from the driver's side, because I told him that I'm done driving for the day. "Evan is in Mexico, isn't he?" I guess.

Damon sighs. I keep going. "If he's in Mexico, we can't have police arrest him, so we might have to get a little creative on how we get him back into the United States, and that's why you didn't tell me," I conclude.

"Close," is all Damon says as he pulls back out onto the freeway. God, what is his deal? Does he really think he'd tell me where Evan is, and I'd ditch him and Uber to his location? At least he's being honest about not telling me something. That's progress, I guess.

"Have you ever been to Mexico?" Damon asks.

I nod. "I went to TJ in high school with…." I trail off, almost forgetting who I was talking to.

"Tyler Lockwood," Damon finishes.

"I was with Matt and some friends at school, too," I add, so it doesn't sound like any time I did anything seedy, it was with Tyler. I was with Matt and a few other friends, but Tyler and I did go off and make a few special medical purchases.

"So, you know the drill?" he asks.

I nod. "But I didn't bring my passport."

"You don't necessarily need one, since we'll be there less than 24 hours," he says. "Will you grab my messenger bag behind your seat?"

As traffic slows the closer we get to the border, Damon opens the bag and pulls out a piece of paper and two passports. "You have my passport?"

Damon grimaces. "Yes and no."

He hands it to me. It's a picture of me, but the name on the passport is Leia Walker. I look at him. "Seriously? You got me a fake passport and my name is something out of Star Wars?"

Damon smiles at his own cleverness, which prompts me to open up the other passport. "Dan Solo? Are you fucking kidding me? We are actually going to cross the border with fake passports and our names are Leia Walker and Dan Solo?"

Damon shrugs. "They're quality passports and it's just in case something happens."

I look at the passports again. He's right, they are very authentic looking. He even has stamps from other countries we haven't actually visited. "I'm never going to make it to the Night of the Arts benefit, because I'm going to be in a Mexican jail," I murmur, inspecting a stamp from France.

"We're not going to miss the benefit," he assures.

Oh God, I forgot he doesn't know. I can't arouse suspicion because I'm about to go into Mexico illegally and I can't be in a car with him if he's going to annoy me to death about going with him. I decide to change the subject. "Is that paper the NEXUS card?" I ask. The NEXUS card is a tourist card that can be purchased online for shorter visits into Mexico.

Damon looks impressed and nods in confirmation. "Entry shouldn't be a problem."

I notice that he doesn't say reentry won't be a problem. Damon's right though, when it's our turn to drive across the border, he shows the NEXUS card and we're allowed into Mexico. What's incredible, is Damon isn't tense at all. He's so calm and confident as he smooth talks the border agent that I suspect he's done this before. Or maybe he's a secret agent. It would explain the quality passports.

Once we're in Mexico, Damon tells me to stop fidgeting and that we aren't far. I'm anxious as hell. This is why Damon didn't tell me, because we are in another country and I have no clue what to do when I see the guy that had a huge hand in blowing my life to shit.

As we drive, I gaze out the window. Damon turned back on music to fill the anxious silence that's fallen between us. He tells me that we're heading further south, and we need to take a side route, before he turns on music. The only station that comes in is a local station that's playing classical guitar music.

The houses we pass are dilapidated with flat aluminum roofs. Children play soccer in the streets and stop to look at the black Porsche driving by, as we take narrow roads to get to the 1D. Once we are on the busier highway, we cross a toll road and the view is more comforting with the ocean on my left. It feels more familiar, but it's an odd familiarity because the signs are in Spanish and the people we pass live a life completely separate from my own, going to the beach or work. The further south we go, the further away I feel from my normal and the more I realize I really am in another country. I didn't expect this when I was abruptly woken up this morning.

Damon looks at me. "You really like traveling, don't you?" he comments.

I shrug. "I haven't really been anywhere, and my trip to TJ doesn't exactly qualify me as a world traveler."

"I've been all over the world," he says.

"All over the galaxy, Dan Solo," I correct.

Damon ignores my interruption. "I've been all over the world, and it never ceases to amaze me how vast and varied it is. We're so connected with technology, and yet it hasn't taken away innate differences."

"Where's your favorite place to visit?" I ask. "Italy?"

Damon thinks about it for a moment. "No," he says. "Carmel."

"You've been all over the world and your favorite place is a six hour drive from Newport?" I scoff.

Damon grows quiet, and I remember our conversation earlier about road trips with his mom and Stefan to Carmel every summer. "If you get up early, you can hike to a spot and watch the fog slowly dissipate from the green cliffs, and see waves crash against massive rocks."

By the way Damon talks about his mother, always in past tense, I know that something must have happened to her. "Your mother?" I ask tentatively.

"Died. Cancer, same as your aunt," he says quickly.

"Damon," I start.

"Don't, Elena," he interrupts.

The pain in his voice is shattering. Raw and cracked. I know that level of pain, because I live with it every day and it's so fucking lonely. My thoughts go back to my own mother, and I have to look out the window again to keep Damon from seeing me shed tears. Tears for his loss, and tears for my own.

We drive in silence until we reach Ensenada, Mexico. Damon drives down a dirt path and pulls the car over into an area with several abandoned dilapidated warehouses.

"Is Evan here?" I ask.

"No, get out of the car, we need to go over a few things before we see him."

I actually do as Damon instructs without arguing, something Damon calls a "miracle" when I get out of the car and meet him in the back. He opens the trunk where my luggage is, and moves it out of the car. "There's a secret small panel on the right side of the trunk," he says pointing to it. He's right, it is practically invisible, and unless he pointed it out, I wouldn't have noticed.

He points to a locked panel on the same side. "Do you know what this is?" he asks.

"Where you'd store items to fix a flat tire or a first aid kit?" I guess.

"Exactly. In order to get to the invisible panel, you have to unlock this one."

"So it's made to look like a lock to get to supplies, when really it's to get to a secret panel. How very 007," I comment. "So what exactly is in the top secret panel?"

"A keypad," Damon opens the panel with his key, reaches his hand in behind a car jack, and pops open the other panel, to reveal a keypad. "The code is 122513. Can you remember that?"

"Why do I need to know this, Damon?"

"Elena, can you remember 122513?" he repeats.

I say the number over and over in my head, and consider writing it somewhere on me, like on the bottom of my converse sneakers. I nod, and watch Damon enter the numbers. When he does, I hear a pop and suddenly, a secret unit opens at the bottom of the trunk to reveal guns and other weapons. I take a step back and spin around. What the fuck? We crossed the border with guns in the back and Damon acted like it was nothing.

"Damon, what is going on?" I yell.

Damon comes over and grabs my hands, pulling me close to him so I'm forced to listen. I try to pull away, but Damon is extremely strong. "Elena, I don't know what's going to happen or what we're going to walk in to. After last night, I need to make sure that you're protected and safe. If anything happens, take my keys and run," he's dead serious. What isn't he telling me?

"Do you know how to shoot a gun?" he asks.

I nod. "Matt showed me."

Damon takes out a gun. "I got this for you…"

"How romantic," I interrupt.

"Stop being cute," he says. "Now, this is a Glock 9mm Lugar. It's small and has a nice weight to it."

He hands it to me. It's similar to ones I've practiced with. Damon shows me the magazine release and how to remove the safety. He has me walk over to an area away from the car and positions me, so I'm standing in front of a broken wooden fence that's 50 feet away.

He stands behind me and moves my arms so I'm holding the gun properly. "See that knot in the fence? I want you to hit it," he whispers in my ear.

Damon backs away, I release the safety and shoot. The loud noise startles me and causes me to slightly jump. The kick back isn't that bad, but I miss the knot. I look at Damon, and he tells me to check my sight alignment, keep my finger on the trigger and keep shooting.

After a few more rounds, I hit the target and squeal. "I am a badass!" I proclaim.

I put the safety back on and Damon walks back towards me with a proud look on his face. "I have to admit, that was incredible hot," he says, taking the gun out of my hands, and pulling me into a deep kiss that causes me to lose my balance. "I've been wanting to do that all morning," he sighs into my ear.

We walk back to the Porsche and Damon opens my luggage and pulls out a pair of dark wash straight leg jeans that I didn't even realize I owned and hands them to me. "Take off your shorts," he orders. "You can't question Evan in those," he adds, pointing to my cut-offs.

"I'd like some privacy," I say, looking around. I just shot a few rounds, but it's still a little weird to be asked to strip in the middle of a bunch of warehouses. "Turn around," I demand.

"Elena, I've seen you in less clothing," he says, draping an arm over my shoulder, and cocking an eyebrow.

I remove his arm. "Turn around," I echo. Damon finally turns around, and double checking to see if the coast is clear, I take off my shoes and shorts and pull on the jeans.

I walk over to the Porsche and sit on the trunk's open door so I can put my shoes back on. "Okay, you can turn back around," I tell him.

Damon turns around and tells me to wait. He walks over, gets on one knee, lifts up my pant leg, and like Prince Charming, attaches an ankle holster.

"Wow," I joke. "Chivalry isn't dead."

There is something about the way Damon tenderly slips on the holster, carefully making sure it's secure so I'm safe. Instructing me on how to get to the gun if I need it and where to keep a spare magazine. "How do you know all of this stuff?" I ask.

"I run drills with my security team and have been training in various mixed martial arts since I was a teenager," he says, getting up and handing me another Glock to stick in the back of the waistband of my jeans and a flannel shirt from my luggage to wear over it.

Oh right, the time he went from geek to beating up his kid brother's bullies. Damon attaches his own ankle holster and puts on a shoulder holster, then puts a leather jacket on over that. He looks impressive in his jeans and wearing a leather holster, and I try not to think about other times he may have done this sort of thing, because with the equipment he has, he's prepared to fight in a zombie apocalypse. I draw the likely conclusion that this isn't his first time in a situation where a guns were involved.

We get back in the car and Damon finally tells me that Evan is holed up in a boat that's docked at the Puerto de Ensenada. He figured out he was here, because he was posting a bunch of pictures with tourists who were stopped at the port while on a cruise, on Instagram.

"How do you know he's still here?" I ask. He could've easily left and gone further south.

"The pictures were from last night, and in some of them, he was on a boat and you could barely make out it's name. Guess what it is?" Damon asks.

I think about it, but draw a blank. "The Sea Dick?" I guess.

Damon smirks. "Pacific Pete 2."

Holy shit. I think back to last night. I saw Pacific Pete 1 and 3, but not 2. No wonder Damon wanted to give me a lesson on how to shoot. I'm suddenly more nervous. Another reason why Damon didn't want to tell me where we were going, right away. It was easier traveling down here without that knowledge looming over my head.

"Are you ready for this?" Damon asks as we drive past homes painted in white with Spanish tiled roofing and ancient churches. The roads become busier with tourists shopping at local markets or walking to the ocean. I drum my fingers on the door handle, feeling the weight of the gun at my ankle.

If I have to, can I kill? I don't know, but I know that I can't go back to Newport and hand my family's legacy over to people who will go to the lengths that they have to destroy my life. "Yeah, I'm ready," I finally say.

We park near the docks and get out of the car. Damon pulls me against the car, and cages me in, forcing me to make eye contact with him. "You don't have to do this," he says. "You can wait here and I'll get Evan for you."

I shake my head. "No, I'm ready. I can do this."

Damon leans in, cups my face and gives me a slow and sad kiss. I wrap my arms around his waist, beneath his holster, pulling him closer to me. When we part, he takes my hand and I follow him.

Damon doesn't know specifically where the boat is, so we have to casually search the docks for it, so as not to draw suspicion. Luckily, I know what the boat looks like, so it doesn't take long before we spot Pacific Pete 2, further on the docks and away from other people.

Damon and I exchange looks, and get out our guns. I cover Damon while he attaches a silencer to one of his guns. He indicates for me to turn the safety off. We silently board the boat and I instinctively act as look out while Damon leads the way.

"Dammit!" I hear someone yell from inside the cabin. Damon tells me to wait while he moves forward. I give him a silent look that says, _hell no, you're not leaving me here_. Leaning up against the wall, Damon quickly peaks into the cabin, and mouths "He's alone."

Using his fingers, Damon counts down from three, indicating that on three, he's busting down the door. My stomach flip flops when he hits three and holy hell, actually kicks the door open, which I didn't think was possible outside of movies and television. Evan is sitting on a blue cooler, playing an Xbox on a small television, propped up on a card table. There's a door on the other side of the small cabin, a small refrigerator, and another cooler. When Evan looks at Damon and the gun, actually looks like he's about to shit himself. So much for needing arsenal.

"Hi Evan," I wave, from behind Damon. "We need to have a little chat."

Damon keeps his gun pointed at Evan, while I tie his hands and feet with fishing wire and duct tape. Evan is surprisingly compliant, which makes me uneasy. Of course, that could be because Damon looks like he's ready to put a bullet in Evan's skull.

"I've got it from here, Damon," I say when I'm sure Evan won't go anywhere. Damon looks unsure, but nods.

"I'll be right outside," he says, walking out.

I pull up another cooler, position it so I can see out of the door to the cabin that Damon isn't blocking, and sit on it, across from Evan, keeping my gun pointed at him. "Where's my money?" I ask.

Evan moves his face around, motioning around the cabin. "Do I look like I have it?"

"Don't get cute with me Evan. I know Tyler Lockwood manipulated the situation by introducing you to my brother, and that's why he recommended you for the job. Where's my money?" I ask again.

"You're not going to kill me," Evan taunts. "You don't have it in you."

I smirk. "I'm not going to kill you, Evan. That was never the plan. I'm going to take you back to the US, so you can be tried and sent to jail for embezzling thousands of dollars from my restaurant. I don't think they have Xboxes in federal prison," I sneer. "Of course, if you aren't compliant, I can make it look like we struggled and send you back to the US without the use of your legs," I add, pointing my gun to his legs. "Or should I aim for your dick? That might be more apt."

I move my gun so it's pointed at his very small member. "Okay!" he shouts. "I'll talk."

I smile, still pointing the gun. "Then talk."

The little weasel sighs. "I don't have your money with me," he says. "The Lockwood's are holding it for me in some off shore account."

"Why do they want my restaurant?" I ask.

"I don't know," he replies. "They never told me. I just did it for the money."

I adjust the gun so it looks like I'm going to pull the trigger. "Wait!" he yells. "I heard things. Look up the Summer Project. I heard that phrase used a lot in conversation."

Summer Project? Seems extremely vague, but it's something to go on. "How is Pete involved? He never deposited my checks, but he told me they bounced."

"Mr. Lockwood wanted to time it so you to notice that you were in debt at a specific time. He knew that Pete's checks wouldn't bounce because banks cover business up to a certain amount, so he used Pete to get your attention. Pete was someone you trusted, who's already in the Lockwood's debt, that he could use," he explains.

"Wait," I say. "Why does Pete owe Richard anything?" Pete's a good guy. What could he have wanted from Richard Lockwood?

"The Lockwood's practically run Newport. They own the ports," Evan explains. "It's gotten worse in the past year, and they've been making Pete pay more and more to dock there."

I'm missing something. There has to be a connection between the ports and the Lockwood's. Evan is stationed in Pete's boat on a port. Richard could've sent him down here as part of the deal, protecting Evan and keeping an eye on him until he officially owns my restaurant. No, something feels off.

Suddenly, I hear arguing, fighting, a gun goes off, and then a thump. I look at Evan, who's smirking. Shit. Evan screams, "There's someone in here!" just as two huge bald men come crashing in. I'm outnumbered. It happens fast, they point their guns at me ready to shoot, and I dive behind Evan just as the gun goes off, hitting Evan. He falls to the ground, scarlet blood starts to pool around his body, and I want to vomit.

"We killed the boy," one man says in a thick accent. "Ricardo is not going to be happy."

I'm frozen flat on the wooden floor and have no clue how to react, but I don't have to, because one of the men easily takes the gun out of my hand and leans on my back, keeping me from moving. He says something in Spanish to the other man, and then starts duct taping my hands together. He sits me up against the wall, so I have to look at him. He's burly and looks similar to the men that beat Pete up last night.

"Who are you?" he asks.

The other man disappears, leaving me alone with Mr. WWF. Where's Damon? I want to ask. Is he dead? Oh God, what if they killed him. I can't use my real name, because if they know who I am, I'm screwed. "Leia Walker," I reply.

"Why are you here?" The positions are completely reversed. Ten minutes ago, I was questioning Evan and now he's feet away from me, dead. _He deserved it._ I push the dark thought away, and try to hold onto hope.

"Evan owes me and my friend money," I respond. It's mostly true.

The man laughs, and I can tell from his reaction that he believes me. "You cost my boss his courier," he says, pointing to Evan.

"You shot him, not me," I argue. He slaps me so hard, it knocks me over and causes a temporary ringing to go off in my ears, but I refuse to cry. Instead, I use my elbows to sit up and look him in the face, glaring.

"You are a US citizen?" he asks. I nod in reply.

"You have a car?" he asks again, and I nod.

His friend walks in, carrying a tied up unconscious Damon and throws him on the floor, keeping a gun pointed to his head. A foreign scream escapes my mouth, earning me another heavy slap. The man gives me a second to sit up and recover, before speaking.

"He's not dead, yet," he says. I keep my eyes locked on Damon, willing him to wake up.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He touches my face, grazing his hand beneath my chin while thinking, and I pray his hand doesn't travel further, so he notices the gun attached to my ankle.

"I need the product that the boy was supposed to sail to Newport to arrive by tonight," he says. "You killed my courier, you are my new courier."

"I can't sail a boat," I tell him, and I have a sick feeling I know what the product is.

"You are a very pretty girl," he says, fondling my breasts and getting disgustingly close so I can smell his breath, which smells like something died in his stomach. I try to squirm away from him, but he just smiles. "You drive across the border, deliver the product, come back, and we don't kill your _friend_ ," he explains.

"If they see me," I try to reason. "They'll know that Evan is dead and it won't look too good on you if you send just anybody. Plus, how am I supposed to know that you haven't killed my friend? I could just drive north and take your product to the police."

I hear the bullet click into place as the other man aims at Damon. Shit. "Wait," I say, panicked. "I'll do it. Where do you want me to deliver your product to?"

"It's supposed to be on Pacific Pete 3 by seven," he instructs. "One of my men will meet you there, and give you something to return to me."

I look at Damon, helpless on the floor and echo the question I had minutes ago. "How will I know that my friend is alive once I've delivered the product?"

The man questioning me speaks Spanish to the other man. He moves away from Damon, towards the Xbox, grabs a phone hidden underneath a bunch of newspapers, and hands it to the guy questioning me. He holds it up for me to inspect. "It's 2016," he remarks. "Here's a phone. I'll send you photos and information on where to deliver the product."

"What's the product?" I ask. Both he and his friend look at each other and laugh. The man questioning me gets up off of the cooler, opens it, and removes two shelves of smelly fish. Underneath the shelf, is at least eight kilo packs of cocaine. I am about to become a drug mule.


	10. Chapter 10: A Thousand Miles

Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of the support. I truly love reading everyone's thoughts on the story. It makes my day to see notifications in my email that people are actually reading this story and surprisingly liking it. In this chapter, we get a little more background on both Damon and Elena. We also see how scrappy and smart Elena is, and how like on the show, she uses the fact that people think she's weak to her advantage. I have the whole story (it's a long one) outlined, and I've gotten to a point where a fair amount of research is required, which is why it took me a little longer to post this chapter. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter of Arms of the Ocean.

Chapter 10: A Thousand Miles Out to the Sea Bed

 _It's odd being in Newport on Christmas. The weather is sunny and a perfect seventy degrees. The grass seems unnaturally green, the air smells like eucalyptus and blue irises. Boats decorated like the front yard of a very exuberant neighbor during the holidays, dance across the water at night for the Christmas Boat Parade, marking the beginning of the holiday season. Palm trees are strung with lights, and frozen hot chocolate concoctions are sold at malls during holiday shopping._

 _"Elena," Aunt Jenna croaks, waking up. I leap off of my perch on the bench near the window that overlooks Newport to give her water. I take the cup from the night stand and sitting on her hospital bed, try to pour some in her mouth. "You shouldn't be here," she says. "You're supposed to be skiing with John in Tahoe."_

 _"I'm not leaving you," I say, putting the cup back down and curling up next to her. She looks so frail and about twenty years older. Her skin is a pasty and has a greyish tinge to it. She wears a paisley blue scarf over her head and her skin is cold._

 _"It's depressing being in a hospital on Christmas," she comments._

 _"It's just a day," I tell her. "When you're out of here, we can throw a cheesy as hell ugly Christmas sweater party, drink eggnog and decorate a tree in obnoxious colors that my mom would've hated."_

 _Jenna tries to smile, but fails. The constant rounds of chemo, the double mastectomy, losing all of her hair, the dozens of medications she has to take, is really overwhelming her and I fear her giving up, which is what I thought when she told me to spend Christmas with John and Jeremy. "What do you want to do today?" I ask. "I could see if I can take you for a walk. Get you outside for some fresh air."_

 _Jenna shakes her head. "Let's watch a movie."_

 _I brighten. There's a DVD player in her room, and I can check out movies from the front desk. "What movie do you want to watch?" I ask._

 _Jenna gives me a guilty look, which means only one thing. "You want to watch Crazy, Stupid Love again, don't you?"_

 _Jenna lets out a guttural cough that sounds painful. "Ryan Gosling makes me happy," she says hoarsely._

 _"Ryan Gosling makes everyone happy," I remark. "I'll go to the front desk and see if they have it."_

 _I get off the bed and race to the reception desk. A nurse in pink scrubs with auburn hair tied in a bun greets me with a kind smile. "I'm looking for a movie to check out to room 4237. Do you have Crazy, Stupid Love?"_

 _The nurse pulls out a binder, and flips through it. "I'm sorry, we don't have that one," she hands me the binder. "Why don't you look through here and see if there's anything you want to watch?"_

 _I sigh. Jenna hasn't made a request for anything since she was admitted to the hospital two weeks ago, and I wasn't going to be able to give her the one thing she asked for. I can't use my computer because the wireless signal is extremely weak on this floor, and it's Christmas, meaning there's no way I'd be able to find it nearby._

 _I move to the other side of the station to flip through the binder, while the nurse helps other people. Seeing nothing that Jenna would like, I hand it back to her and walk back to the room._

 _Nurse Kelly is checking her vitals when I get back to the room. Jenna looks at me hopefully, but I just shake my head. "Nurse Kelly, would it be okay if we took a walk around the hospital."_

 _"Jenna can't walk, but I don't see why she can't be pushed around in a wheelchair. Take her to the courtyard. Sun will do you some good, Jenna," she says to us._

 _Jenna reluctantly agrees, and after some effort, Nurse Kelly and I get her in a wheelchair. It's nice getting her out of her room and wheeling her around Hoag hospital. I talk her ear off about nothing while we sit in the courtyard and people watch. Jenna reminisces, which I hate because her tone is sad and one of someone who's giving up, like she'll never put up Christmas stockings or build a gingerbread house again._

 _Eventually, she asks to go back to her room and I reluctantly take her. When we reach her room, there's a DVD on the nightstand with a handwritten note on a sticky with the hospital insignia on it. It reads Merry Christmas in all caps. Jenna and I spend the rest of the day watching Crazy, Stupid Love over and over again, and I don't mind, because Ryan Gosling truly does make her smile._

XXXXXX

Nothing went according to plan. When Mr. WWF showed me the drugs, I told myself that there's no way I could take the drugs across the border without getting caught. So, I decided to play along and comply, until I had the opportunity to get one of them alone and use the gun in my ankle holster to shoot him, then take out the other one. This all played out in my head perfectly; a very Die Hard scenario where Damon and I escape amidst a cloud of smoke.

The only opening I could think of where I could pull off the John McClane act, was when I had to transport both of the large coolers to the Porsche. Surely one of the apes would offer to help. They didn't.

"I'm going to need someone to help me get this into my car," I demand. They exchange looks and laugh. Mr. WWF walks over to one of the coolers, pulls out a handle and drags it on the floor. It has wheels. Fuck.

"Take it by yourself, little girl," Mr. WWF's sidekick says. Apparently, they could tell I was going to try something, and found my pathetic situation humorous.

My next plan is to delay them as much as possible, and pray that Damon comes to. I make such a big deal about having to take both coolers, that I tell them I'll have to take them to the car one at a time. They are not having it.

I try to buy time by flattering them. "You seem like smart men," I lie. "Don't you think your boss will be upset when he finds out someone outside your _fine_ organization is involved?"

The sidekick smirks. "As long as the product is delivered on time, he won't care."

Damn. "Well, you obviously have over thirty grande worth of product you want me to deliver. Don't you think it's risky sending that much inventory with me?"

The big one glares at me. "Ricardo only sells the most pure product," he says in surprisingly good English. "You're carrying just over a half a million dollars worth of product, and I don't trust you," he says. "But I trust that you don't want your boyfriend dead."

Holy shit. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. $500,000 is just going to hang out in the back of the Porsche while I drive across the border. And did he just call Damon my boyfriend? Holy fucking shit. I can't help it but I shake my head. There's no way I can do this.

"You have five hours to get to Newport," he spits. He walks over to me, still sitting on the floor, and takes out a knife. He takes time showing me the blade and the wooden handle with a detailed carved crucifix. I guess something to pray to before he guts you.

"Pretty knife," I say, quavering.

He smirks. "Say another word, and when you return, your boyfriend _will_ be alive but not whole."

I look over at Damon, who's still completely knocked out and nod. The man moves the blade dangerously close to my arm as he cuts me loose. He doesn't allow me time to rub my wrists where my bindings were, instead he continues to speak very closely to my face, making sure I understand every word he utters.

"No phone calls. No telling any friends. No police. No sampling the product. No stopping unless you need to get gas. You are to drive there, drop off the product, and pick up payment, _ALONE_. Call us when you've made the drop and we won't kill your _boyfriend_. If we find out you told anyone, we kill him and keep you." He punctuates ever sentence, making his instructions clear; I don't do what he says, Damon and I are both dead or worse, Damon's dead and I'm "kept"; a fate I'm sure is worse than death, which I think is the point.

I nod as he moves away from me, slowly grazing the wrong end of the blade against my cheek. I get up off of the floor and crawl to Damon.

"What are you doing?" the side kick spits.

I ignore him, looking at Damon. They must've hit him from behind, because his face is still perfect, slightly tan from running outside, his lips velvet pink, his long eyelashes and the quirk of his brow. I draw his face with my finger, memorizing it so I'm motivated to to what I have to do. I lay a soft kiss on his lips and feel a faint exhalation on my lips. "Preparati," I whisper so lightly, it sounds like the feather of a breath, as I dig into his pockets for the car keys. When I find them, I show the keys to the men, in answer to their question.

I'm somehow able to take the coolers from the boat to the car. They gave me the phone and turned on a GPS app so they can track me. I guess it's what they used when Evan made drops. When I sit in the front seat, it's surreal to look to my left and not see Damon passed out or giving me orders with his chair in a close to vertical position.

I take my phone out of the charger and set the GPS directions for Newport. I've missed several calls and don't respond to texts messages from Caroline about the delivery of my dress for Friday. If I make it to Friday alive, it'll be a miracle. Stealing Tyler's phone will be cake compared to this.

Before I pull out, I scan the map, looking for a clear spot to pull over that won't look like I've stopped on the phone they gave me, which is currently in the cup holder. I wouldn't put it past them to have turned on some audio recording device, so the mouthpiece is face down. I find the spot fifteen minutes from where I am, in the direction Damon and I came from when we did target practice, and pull out of the parking lot.

After driving east, I pull over near the same abandoned warehouses. I casually circle the lot before I park the car, making sure I'm the only one there. I get out of the car, and open the trunk. I take out both coolers, lying them on the ground, and like Damon instructed just a couple hours ago, I punch in 122513 and open the secret compartment. It's as deep as I remembered, and I think this plan may actually work.

I open the coolers, take out both shelves of fish, and stuff Damon's 007 secret compartment with half a million dollars worth of cocaine. I have to readjust some of his weaponry, but it works and I can close it. I cover the compartment with the coolers filled with God awful smelly fish, and open the suitcase Damon packed me.

My suspicion that he packed me something a little revealing was correct. I take off the shirt that I've been wearing all day, and put on a thin strapped black camisole that shows ample cleavage. If Damon and I survive this with all of our limbs and brain function, I'm going to call him out for forcing me to wear a tank top running, but packing me something that showed off my tits. Maybe he thought he'd be the only one to view them, something I can't think about with him knocked out and lying on a boat.

I hop back in the car and continue my drive to Newport, and it doesn't take me long to reach the border. The line to get into the United States is incredibly long. Merchants in push carts walk between rows of cars selling water and sliced fruit or cucumbers. It's nothing like it was going into Mexico, which only adds to my anxiety, not to mention, I'm on a deadline. The NEXUS line isn't nearly as bad as the other lanes, but the wait feels like an eternity as I look at the clock, knowing I have just three and a half hours to get to Newport, and I'll be hitting rush hour traffic.

I'm next in line at the San Ysidro border crossing. The men approach my car, and I roll down my window so I can hand them the NEXUS card and my fake passport. An agent, wearing Oakley sunglasses and an army green uniform with a bullet proof vest approaches the car.

"Good afternoon, miss," he says. "I just need to ask you a few questions."

He scans my passport and smirks. "Leia Walker, huh? Kids must've bugged you about that in school."

I nervously laugh. Shit, my agent is a dork. I subtly pull down my tank top so that the more of my cleavage is showing. "Yeah, you wouldn't believe how many lightsaber jokes there are."

He looks at the NEXUS card, and his brow furrows. "This was purchased by Dan Solo?"

God, if we survive this, I'm going to kill Damon. I try to channel Caroline and throw a flirty giggle at the officer, instead, I sound like I have something stuck in my throat. "My boyfriend. We met at a Halloween party, if you can believe it, dressed as the characters we were taunted for. He's still deep sea fishing on a boat in Ensenada, I have to come back for him later," I ramble. I really need to shut up.

One of the officers who was walking around the car, walks up to the dork that's now staring at my cleavage, and not listening to anything I said, thank god. He whispers something to him, and they both turn their attention to me.

"Ma'am, we're going to need you to pull over to one of the spaces over here," he says, pointing to parking spaces in front of a building.

"Why?" I blurt out, my anxiety completely apparent.

He takes off his sunglasses and analyzes me. "We need to inspect your vehicle."

I nod and pull the car over to a parking space. That's when I see the dogs. Three snarling German shepherds leashed, and another officer holding them back. I get out of the car, and am instructed to open up all of the doors. The officers pull out the coolers and open them up. They immediately back away once they catch a whiff of the fish. I stand by, watching everything unfold while praying to every God imaginable.

An officer with short blonde hair and pale skin approaches me. "Why would anyone want to transport rotting fish?"

I decide to play dumb, and shrug while twisting my ponytail with my finger. "I don't know. My boyfriend caught it."

"Your boyfriend who is not with you?" he spits.

I'm so anxious and overwhelmed by the situation; watching dogs sniff every orifice of the car, hanging out a little too long right where the drugs are, that I start to cry. The tears are very real, drawn from shear fear that I'll be living a very real version of Orange is the New Black, but also come out of a desire to look more innocent than I am.

"Really. I don't understand why you're doing this," I sob. "My boyfriend just wanted to go on his boat and scatter his brother's ashes. He wanted me to drop the fish off so he could be alone," tears are rolling down my face. "Why doesn't he want me with him?" I ask the officer. "Am I not good enough to comfort him? Are we going to break up?" I search the officer's eyes, and I may be going to hell for the lie I told, but he has a look of sympathy on his face.

He pats me on the shoulder uncomfortably. "We'll have you on your way shortly."

He joins the other officers, one of whom has cut open one of the fish, inspecting it. "These are clean," he states. "Rotting, but clean."

The dogs are still focused on the trunk, but the officer holding them thinks nothing of it, because he pulls them back. They throw out the cut open fish and put the coolers back in my trunk. They thank me for being patient and I'm sent on my way.

I did it. I was able to cross the border with drugs. It's euphoric, this feeling of barely scraping by. I imagine it's the same feeling you get when you skydive and don't die after the drop. I feel like I could do anything, and that _Die Hard_ scenario I thought of earlier, actually seems possible, until I see what time it is. Crossing the border took longer than I thought, and I have just two and a half hours to get to Newport. Meaning, I have to speed and make a deal with God that I'll go to church if there's no traffic, which would be an actual miracle considering it's 4:30.

It's one of those times where you can't listen to music when you drive, because there's so much going on in your head. It's taking all of my effort to focus on the road, and the fact that I need to find a large touristy gas station so I can fill up the car and figure out some sort of disguise so I don't get caught as Elena Gilbert: Drug Mule. Especially, if Richard Lockwood is there, and considering it's Pete's boat, there's a good chance he'll see me. Pete would recognize me in a heartbeat. The guy's seen me in diapers.

Traffic is horrible. There's an accident that they're trying to move out of the way, and I'm starving. We threw out the Starbucks goodies when we stopped on the way to Mexico, so while I'm stuck in traffic, I search Damon's glove compartment for a protein bar or something edible. My stomach is in nervous knots, the car smells like a sewer, and I still manage to be hungry. I could really go for gummy bears right now.

While searching through the compartment, I see a thick rectangular card with velcro attached. I thank God. I really really thank God, because it's a FasTrak pass, meaning I can go into a faster lane, limited to people who have the pass. Damon either doesn't drive this car that much and forgot he had it, or he figured we wouldn't hit traffic, or more likely, he thought this was going to be a very different trip and was hoping to draw it out a little longer by being stuck in traffic, or get lost trying to find a short cut. I honestly wouldn't put it past him.

I attach the FasTrak and with some difficulty because traffic is so heavy, change lanes. It's like being in the first class of freeways. The lanes are a little bigger, there's more room, and I comfortably pass the parking lot that is California traffic. I drive at normal speed, and stop at a truck stop outside of San Clemente. I have exactly ten minutes to find a hat or wig or bandanna or something, and fill up the car.

After filling up the car, I go into the gas station and purchase the first items I find, gummy bears, navy blue coveralls, glasses, and a black and white trucking hat that has the grizzly bear on the California flag, with the words California Love underneath. I go into the bathroom to change, taking off my jeans, I pull up the coveralls over my gun holster. I tuck my hair in the hat, and put on the glasses.

I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, and I look batshit crazy in the coveralls with reading glasses you could only buy at a truck stop and a trucker hat. If you caught a glimpse of me, you wouldn't recognize me right away, and if you didn't know me well, I'd look like a different person, which is what I was going for.

I have a feeling those docks are closely monitored and if Richard finds out that Damon and I were in Ensenada and know about the operation he has going on, I'm screwed. He already knows I was at the docks last night, and until I have solid proof that links Richard to his activities in Mexico, I need him to think I know nothing.

When I get back to the car, I put my jeans back in my bag and start the car. The drive into Newport doesn't take long, considering I can take the private toll roads. I pull into an empty development under construction, and after making sure everyone has gone home, I transfer the drugs back into the coolers. Before covering them with fish, I look at the piles of premium coke. If I could skim off the top, I could use it later on.

I dig into my makeup bag for a container to put it in. My Laura Mercier luminous powder would work. I empty the white makeup powder into the bushes and using one of Damon's knives from his secret weapon stash and slice open a seem in the packaging and dump close to fourteen grams into the makeup container. I can't imagine Evan transporting this much product, without taking a little off the top.

I close the seem with packing tape I expertly pealed off of another kilo of coke, and put it back. Does anything look suspicious? No. Am I dead if they weigh it? Possibly. I put the makeup container back in my bag, close the trunk and get back into the car, making my way to the docks.

I park the Porsche in a spot that allows me for easy departure. I'm supposed to transport the product to Pacific Pete 3, and hopefully I'll just have to drop off and then I can leave. Pulling my cap low and making sure my black rimmed glasses are securely on, I completely zip up the large coveralls and pull the two coolers to the boat.

The men from last night give me a suspicious once over and greet me. The one that roughed up Pete greets me. "You have the delivery? You're late."

"It's 7:03!" I yell.

The other one laughs. "Jorge, stop messing with our new courier."

Oh, hell no. I'm not their new anything. "I'm just filling in until you find Evan's replacement."

This causes more laughter, and I realize that he's absolutely right. I return successfully, there's no way they'll let me go. I essentially passed some sick test where I was able to cross the border with drugs and wasn't caught. They'll likely make me do it again. I just have to take this one step at a time, and focus on getting back to Damon.

They take the coolers and motion for me to follow them. I look both ways and don't see Richard or Pete. We move into a cabin similar to the one Evan was holed up in, except instead of a television and an Xbox, there's a table with scales and packaging so they can sell the drugs in smaller quantities. They open the cooler and aren't at all put off my the waft of smelly fish, instead, they casually place the compartments on the floor and remove the packs of cocaine.

My hand nervously plays with the zipper on my coveralls. It was stupid to take some of the drugs, and I'm having serious regrets. "Did you have trouble crossing the border?" One of them asks, while weighing each kilo.

"Yes," I reply. "They made me pull over, but the fish smell threw them off."

They laugh, like this is something they do every day. No big deal, just another evening as a member of huge crime organization. I'm tempted to ask about Richard, but have to do so so I don't draw suspicion. I'm supposed to be Leia right now, I remind myself.

"So," I hesitate. "Your boss wasn't upset Evan is dead?"

They continue to weigh the kilos, and I hold my breath as they get closer and closer to the one I took from. "Our boss doesn't care about him. As long as the product is delivered on time," Jorge says, echoing something similar to what the other goons said in Mexico.

This seems odd to me. If Tyler was friends with Evan, and Evan was being kept alive for a reason, it seems like Richard would be upset. Maybe they're lying and he doesn't know, or maybe Richard really doesn't care.

"He knows we have the situation under control," the other one says.

They don't, because there's no way I'm doing that drive again. "I have the return coolers," someone says from behind me.

I turn around to see a short man, with a black eye so enormous, that it's almost swollen shut. I'm surprised he can walk on board without running into walls. Pete. We make eye contact and there's a look of alarm and recognition. Shit.

"Take the coolers to Leia's car," orders Jorge.

Pete hesitates. "Where's Evan?"

Jorge gets up and walks over to Pete, getting close to his face. "What did we say about asking too many questions, Pacific Pete?"

Pete shrinks back, clearly afraid of another blow to the face. "Not to ask any," he replies, trembling.

For whatever reason, I feel the need to intervene. "Stop. I'll take him."

I dangle my keys, walk over to Pete and grab a cooler, hoping my blunt initiative distracted them. "You don't know where to deliver the coolers," Jorge says.

"Back to the boat in Ensenada?" My voice squeaks.

"No," he laughs. "We'll text it to the phone Hey-Suess gave you. They're expecting you at one in the morning."

"Hey Seuss?" I ask slowly. "Like Dr. Seuss?"

Jorge doubles over laughing. Between wheezes, he spells out the name for me. "J-E-S-U-S, _guera._ "

My idiocy seems to have distracted them effectively, because they're no longer weighing kilos, instead they're laughing and ready to send me on my way. And the big guy in Mexico's name is Jesus? Possibly explains the obsession with crucifixes, but looking at Jorge's arm, who has the same intricate thorny rose entwined crucifix tattoo, seems to be a running theme.

I leave them, laughing while Pete and I walk out to the Porsche, carrying the coolers. When we are far enough away where I don't think anyone will here is, I ask Pete what I've been dying to ask him since I found out he lied about the bounced checks and sold me tainted fish. "Why did you do it, Pete? You've been providing the restaurant with fresh fish for close to 25 years," I pause to open up the trunk.

Pete places the coolers in the trunk, and looks upset. I've never seen him like this. "Elena," he says. "I'm sorry."

He doesn't say anymore, which is frustrating as hell. "I deserve an explanation," I demand.

Pete places the other cooler in the car. "I could ask you the same question, Elena. What would your mother think if she knew you were transporting drugs?"

Oh, he has some nerve. "You are not allowed to bring up my mother. Not after what you did to the restaurant," I pause. "And do you think this is by choice?" I say, motioning to my outfit.

I'm suddenly worried. Pete is obviously more loyal to Richard than to me. What if he tells him I was here? Pete closes the door to the trunk. "Are you going to tell Richard I was here?" I'd like a heads up if I'm going to have to move to Mexico and live as Leia Walker for the rest of my life.

Pete looks offended. "No, Elena. I wouldn't do that to you."

"But you'd lie to me about a bounced check and sell me bad fish?"

"I had no choice, either," he says. "You need to leave. Sell Richard your restaurant and leave. It's only going to get worse."

"What's going on Pete? What does Richard have on you?"

"Listen to me very carefully, Elena," Pete looks around the deserted lot, and drops his voice so I can barely hear it. "Richard Lockwood owns Newport, and people who don't listen to him or don't agree to his changes, are a threat."

With that, Pete leaves. I climb back into the car and drive back to the empty lot where I put the drugs back into the cooler, so I can do the same thing, in case the coolers get searched again.

It's dark out, and because I don't want to draw attention to myself, I use the light on my phone to see. When I open up the trunk and take out the coolers, I notice how much heavier they are than the ones I had. I open the coolers, and notice that this time, they use clean fish, except unlike the last batch, there's a clean layer of ice. I lift up the two heavy layers of salmon, and let out a gasp. There's dozens of small wooden crucifixes.

I pick one up to examine it. It has the same carved markings of Jorge's and Jesus's tattoos. It feels heavier than it should be, so I run my finger along the outside of it, and feel a clean ridge at the top. I twist it, and to my surprise, it opens.

Looking inside, I see gold pebbles. I pour some into my hand and feel them between my fingers. None of this makes sense. Why would Richard exchange gold for drugs? Or is he moving it? I pour the contents of the crucifix back in, and proceed to open another one. This one is full of diamonds.

He must have twenty four wooden crosses full of gold and diamonds. He steals from my small restaurant, and meanwhile he's dealing with thousands, probably millions of dollars. He doesn't get to get away with this.

It's a combination of feeling tired, stressed because Damon is hurt somewhere, and a little cocky because I got away with it when I did it earlier, but I take the black bottle of Kate Somerville face mist from my makeup bag, and empty it into the dirt. I take a little from each of the crosses and pour the gold and diamonds into the empty bottle of face mist, so it looks like they all weigh the same. I then close everything up tightly, and place all the crucifixes into Damon's secret compartment. I put the bottle of gold and diamonds into my makeup bag.

When I get back into the car, I use the phone they gave me to call them. They texted me on the way here the address to the docks in Newport, so I call that number. They sent me two pictures of Damon, still unconscious on the floor of the boat, but judging by the sun shining through the window in the background, they just took those pictures the moment I left. Jorge answers.

"You delivered the product," he states.

"Yes, now let me talk to my _boyfriend_ ," I say, my voice cracking at the word boyfriend. It feels weird to refer to Damon as my boyfriend, when I have no clue what we are, except right now we're partners in crime.

"What's your boyfriend's name?" he asks.

Shit. If Damon said his name, either to flash his influence or on accident because he just came to, I'm screwed. If he said Dan Solo, Jesus might be a huge nerd and put two and two together. I decide to risk it.

"Dan Solo," I reply casually. "Why?"

He laughs and there's a brief pause. "Elena," Damon groans.

I panic. He doesn't sound good. His voice is cracked and rough. "Damon, are you okay?"

"Run, Elena. Don't come…."

The conversation is abruptly interrupted. I hear loud thumps in the background and shouting. "What's going on?" I yell into the receiver. "Talk to me, Damon."

"You'd better get back here," Jesus says. "I don't think Danny is going to last long."

"Don't you dare hurt him," I shout, anger surging through me. "I did what you asked. Your product was delivered, and now I have something to return. If I think for a second that you hurt Dan, I will fucking take your payment and run."

"Get back here," he repeats, and hangs up. Oh, he is messing with the wrong person.

The place I'm supposed to deliver the items is a warehouse outside of Ensenada. After the conversation I had, I devise a plan. I find myself wired and anxious to get this whole thing over with. My ass hurts from sitting in a car for over ten hours, and my head hurts from trying to run through every scenario I may encounter. Considering the sun has long gone down, the drive to the Mexican border for the third time that day isn't bad. The border officer doesn't even look at my passport, instead he flags me though, which is surprising considering it's my third time passing through the border.

I drive until I hit the spot where Damon and I had target practice. I'm going to have to do what I need to do in less than ten minutes, or it's going to look suspicious since they're tracking my GPS. I empty my duffel in the back of the car. Damon is going to go into a blind rage when he sees the mess I've created in the back of his Porsche.

I take out half the crucifixes and put them in the duffel bag, and the other half I divide equally in each cooler. I move the bag to the side of one of the warehouses and cover it with old ply wood. I pin the exact location with the phone Jesus gave me, take off my coveralls and put my jeans back on, making sure that the gun is tight against my leg and covered. I find another ankle holster in Damon's 007 compartment and strap it onto my other leg, along with one of his knives.

Once I'm back in the car, I zoom out of the lot and drive to where Damon is. Once I've parked, I look in Damon's luggage and find what I was looking for, Damon's light jacket, similar to the one he had me put on when he picked me up walking home from Crystal Cove. It smells like dune grass near the ocean. Damon. I inhale deeply before I put on the jacket and slip the phone in it.

Carrying the coolers, I approach the warehouse. I hear the sound of air breaking and feel a whack, hear a pop, and fall to the ground as everything goes.

XXXXXX

I hear my name being shouted over and over, except it's not my name, and someone is trying to jostle me awake. "Leia! Leia!"

My eyes open and I am in mind numbing pain. I reach up and place my hand on my head and look around once my vision is focused. We're in a room with aluminum siding. It's completely empty, except Damon is holding me, my head resting in his lap. It's comfortable, and I really just want to go back to sleep instead of deal with any more life threatening drama, then I remember the money that's still at the abandoned warehouses and how nothing went according to plan.

I was supposed to go in and negotiate, instead they got the jump on me and dragged me in here. I shift my legs. Yup, the idiots didn't search me, so I still have the guns. I'm about to tell Damon, when he interrupts me.

"Elena," Damon whispers. He's using my real name, this is serious. "I need to tell you something."

I squint at him. This is a first, Damon has never offered up information. "Go on," I say, sitting up.

His hair is a tousled mess, and his still perfect face looks tortured, and his usually sky blue eyes are grey and hooded. He seems tired and by the way he positions himself, they kicked him in the ribs. The sleeve of his henley is ripped and there's blood on it.

"I came to Newport because I wanted to buy The Lunch Box," he says.

Well fuck, I knew there was a reason. I knew it. I feel so vindicated in my anger that I jump from my spot and punch him hard in the arm where the sleeve is ripped. He shrinks back. " . .Cunt-breathing. Liar," I yell, punctuating every word with a hard thwack in the arm.

He just sits there and takes it, until I get it out of my system and sit back. "Why?" is all I ask.

Damon waits. "Speak, dammit!" I yell, getting back up to hit him.

He puts his hand out to stop me, so he can speak. "I've always been interested in buying The Lunch Box, it's sitting on prime real estate and I heard through several resources that it was going to be up for sale, so I thought I'd come down and check it out."

The Box's land can't be worth that much. I know that the average price of a home in my area is over 2.5 million, and I technically own The Box's land because my great great grandmother bought it when she started the restaurant, but it's in the middle of the PCH and no one has ever shown interest in it until recently. "Is that why you started following me?"

Voices outside of the room interrupt us. I hear shouting in Spanish, and they hover behind the door. I push his revelation aside and sit up. I grab a gun out the ankle holster and toss it to Damon. He catches it, wide eyed, mainly, I suppose, because I threw a gun at him and I don't think you're supposed to do that. "We aren't done with this conversation," I hiss.

Damon checks the magazine and puts the gun in the back of his pants. I decide to leave my gun in my ankle holster because I'm going to have to do a lot of talking and I don't want to use it unless I have to. It would be stupid if we started popping off shots right now, when I have no fucking clue what kind of place we're in, and Damon seems to agree, since he put his gun away.

The men walk in, and I'm ready. I make quick eye contact with Damon, silently telling him to go along with my plan.

Someone I don't recognize opens the door. He and another person I don't recognize both holding guns, shout at me in Spanish, motioning for me to follow them. I know what Damon's thinking, and I pray he doesn't do it. I turn to him and shake my head. We needed to get out of here without creating a bigger problem.

One man points his gun to my back while the other one guides me down the hallway, which is barely illuminated by a flickering of random construction lights hanging on the wall. My heart is racing, because I know that I'm about to enter a room full of anger, directed at me. I have to remind myself that these are men that see me as someone who they can use or sell.

We walk into the center of the warehouse where the coolers I transported sit next to a fold out table. I scan the room. There are a couple of guys in white coveralls with masks bagging and weighing coke, but for the most part, this seems like the smaller part of a larger organization. Like this is used for the sole purpose of transferring product, and is in a location where they can leave in a moments notice, if they need to.

The man pointing a gun to my back forces me to a kneeling position, keeping the steel pressed firmly between my shoulder blades. My hand lightly flits to my gun, making sure it's still there. The weight calms me. Jesus walks up to me and slaps me hard across the face. I don't let it knock me off balance, instead I take the slap, straighten and glare at him.

"Missing something?" I spit.

He gnashes his teeth. "Where's the rest of the delivery?"

"Get your goons off of me," I demand.

Jesus motions for them to back up, but I stay in the kneeling position. "It's in a secure location," I lie, because I don't know how secure that location is. "Let me and Dan go, and I'll give you the coordinates."

He laughs. "No," he motions to the guy that guided me into the room and says something in Spanish. He leaves. "You did a good job transporting the product. We had a bet going on whether you'd land in jail or not. The winner would get to shoot your boyfriend."

With that, I hear shots go off. The idiot behind me runs out to see what the commotion is, leaving me alone with Jesus and the men bagging coke. "Looks like Hugo got to do the honors," he says.

I panic, because what if he's right? Is Damon dead? In that instant, I decide to just go for it. I grab the gun out of my holster and stand up, pointing it at Jesus before he has a chance to get a weapon if his own. The men who were bagging coke stop what they're doing and have a look of alarm on their faces.

Jesus sneers. "You won't shoot me."

I aim for his leg and releasing the safety, pull the trigger. I miss completely, but there's an evident look of alarm. "You should've listened to me and taken my offer," I say, repositioning my aim.

Jesus casually walks over to the table, not caring that I have a gun pointed at him. "What are you doing?" I ask, my confidence wavering.

"You're not going to shoot me," he repeats, grabbing a large gun off of the table. Shit. He's half right. I aim and shoot again, this time hitting his arm on accident. I jump back in surprise, because I actually shot someone, and shooting a gun fucking hurts. He doubles over, but is still able to grab the gun off of the table and aim it at me. The men that were working near us, start to surround me. Wildly, I let another shot go off before the men jump and disarm me.

Holding me down, Jesus, who's bleeding profusely, approaches me. "Where's the product?"

Oh God, I'm going to die in Mexico and I'm not going to have the opportunity to kick Damon's ass. I try to wriggle myself free, but the men hold my arms back tightly. I still have the knife, if I can just get to it. "It's on the phone," I gasp.

He speaks something else in Spanish, and the men grope me, trying to find the phone. "I can just give it to you, there's no need to feel me up," I plead.

They let go of me long enough for me to take the phone out of my pocket and toss it up high in the air. It has the desired effect, everyone except me dives for it, giving me enough room to run. Shots go off and I dodge them just as Damon comes in and shoots, shielding me from fire. "Get back," he yells at me.

"Let's go!" I scream. Damon seems hell bent on killing everyone in the room. The two men that were working on bagging coke are on the ground. I'm unsure if they're dead. Damon powerfully strides over to Jesus and punches him, because who needs guns when you have fists to let out your aggression. A pool of blood forms around Jesus.

Since no one else is firing, I walk over to Damon and try to pull him away from Jesus. "Dan," I say, but Damon is unresponsive, he continues to lay into Jesus, who's out cold. "Damon," I plead.

He stops mid-punch, and allows me to pull him away. "Come on," I say gently, grabbing his arm and guiding him to a standing position. Damon walks towards the door, but I stay back momentarily. I walk over to one of the men Damon took down and grab my Glock. I look at the phone tossed in the air, cracked and lying on the floor. I shouldn't take it, I really shouldn't take it, but I reach down and quickly put it in my pocket.

"What's that?" Damon asks.

"Nothing," I say. "Let's go."

Damon and I run out of the warehouse and I lead the way to his car. I toss him the keys and we hop in, and peal out of there. We stop once so Damon can clean up my mess in the back while I put the weapons away. He doesn't ask where my duffle went, instead he puts it in his empty gym bag. Damon and I also change, because it wouldn't look good to try to cross the border into the United States covered in blood and dirt.

We drive in silence for a while until we get to the border. Damon asks for the passports and the NEXUS card, and I hand it to him without saying anything. Unlike my first trip through the border, the car isn't searched. The officer does ask why it's the second time in twenty four hours we've crossed the border into the United States. Damon is such a charmer that when he sarcastically tells the officer I had to go back home because I forgot my makeup bag, the officer let's us go through, laughing.

Damon wants me to comment on his sexist joke, but I don't. Instead, I lay my head against the window and drift off to sleep.

XXXXXX

I wake up and realize I'm not in the car anymore. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, before I realize I'm in a hotel room. I'm lying in the same black tank top and underwear. In a temporary state of panic, I look for Damon, and am relieved to see light coming from the bathroom and hear the shower turn off. I get out of bed and search for my jeans, which are neatly folded on an armchair.

Once my jeans are on, I find the keys to the Porsche on the desk and slip them in my back pocket, just as Damon walks out of the bathroom wearing only a towel tied around his waist. I can't help but scan his body in admiration. Damon is an adonis, lean and cut. His shoulders have definition from hours of disciplined workouts. I can't help but want to run my tongue down his lean washboard abs, past the mythical V that I've only heard rumors about existing, and down the happy trail to…

"Admiring the view?" Damon asks, smirking. I roll my eyes and my gaze falls on the gash he bandaged up on his arm, and the purpling of his ribs. In my blatant ogling, I failed to remember he was knocked out and injured not long ago.

"You're injured," I comment.

"You're leaving?" Damon asks, ignoring my observation.

"I somehow woke up without pants and I had a desire to not be pants-less around you."

Damon narrows the gap between us, his gaze raking over me, stripping me naked. "What can I say? They magically fell off."

"And landed perfectly folded in the armchair," I add.

Damon walks a little closer in all of his glisteningly wet glory. I want to scrap my teeth down his chest and lick up every last drop. I can't let him get any closer because I'm tired and I want nothing more than to get lost in him, but I need to process everything he's told me and that's happened tonight.

"Did you follow me because you wanted the restaurant?" I ask, taking a step away from him, and almost tripping over the desk chair.

He sighs. I think he was hoping I'd drop it after everything that followed his confession. "At first, yes."

I momentarily swallow back my anger. "Did you come into the restaurant that day with Malibu Barbie because you wanted to buy the restaurant?"

"Malibu Barbie?"

"Damon, focus."

"Yes. I was assessing the value of the restaurant."

"Am I a fucking mark?" I'm pushing him now. Slamming my fists against his glorious chest. "Where you trying to woo me into selling the restaurant to you? Is that why you told me not to take Richard's offer? Is this just all apart of some ancient rivalry with the Lockwoods?"

Damon takes it, like he did before. I beat my fists against him, red hot fury flowing through me. "Was it real? Was any of this real?" I ask, tears streaming down my face. Damon catches my fists and backs me against the wall.

"Don't do that, Elena," he growls.

"Do what?" I say through gritted teeth.

"Demean yourself." He pins me there, crossing my arms above my head and holding them firmly in place. "You're going to listen to me," he demands, looking down at me. "You are not a mark. We are real. We are fucking real, dammit. I have wanted _you_ from the moment I laid eyes on you."

I search his blue eyes for truth, wanting to believe him. "Let go of me," I plead unconvincingly.

He releases me and I bolt to the door, but Damon's faster and blocks me from leaving. "No running Elena, remember?" he says, calmly.

"You don't get to tell me that, Damon," I yell. "Not when you've been lying to me this entire time."

He moves forward, once again, closing the gap. "You can't do that," he walks closer. "You can't take every moment and lump it together to negate everything we've been through."

"I can if our first moment together was a lie," I say, using the gap between Damon and the door to swing it open and dart out.

I don't make it far. Much like last week, Damon chases me and easily picks me up by the calves and throws me over his shoulder, walking me back to the room while I pointlessly pound my fists at his ass, yelling every expletive at him and not caring who I wake up. I'm tempted to yank the towel off of him, but I think Damon would only appreciate that.

When we get back to the room, he throws me on the bed and leans over me, my back is flat on the mattress and so he's inches from my face. "You do not walk out in the middle of a discussion," he orders.

"This isn't a discussion Damon, this is a fucking Earth shattering argument," I lash out, trying to break free from his grasp, but he keeps me easily pinned beneath him, his damp hair starting to drip on my face. He leans closer, his knee parting my legs so he can hover next to my ear.

"We aren't over," he seethes. I gasp as he nips at my earlobe, and moves his head so we're locking eyes. His skin is still flushed from the shower and he smells deliciously clean after the long day. His lips, velvety smooth and as mad as I am, I long to taste him one more time. He stays a half an inch away from my lips, gazing at me with tangible hunger, waiting for me to make the first move.

I grab the back of his neck, and pull him to me. His mouth crashes over mine, tongue thrusting into my mouth. I sigh contentedly, fisting his hair, attempting to bring him closer to me as he continues his ministrations. Kissing me until I'm breathless. My hands slide from his scalp and scrape down his back, feeling every sinewy muscle.

Damon moans as I circle my hips and flip him so he's flat on his back and I'm straddling him. I continue to kiss him feverishly as he grabs my hips, finding the hem of my camisole he starts to pull it off of me. I part only so he can completely take it off and toss it aside, then continue the assault on his mouth, my hair cascading over my shoulder as I work my way down his chest.

Damon moans my name and I look up. "Do you want me to stop?" I whisper.

Damon answers by flipping me so I'm back flat on the mattress. "I want you," he replies, taking off my jeans until they're at my ankles so I can kick them off. He admires my black lace boyshorts, laying feather light kisses at the apex of my thigh. "I like these," he says horsely, pulling them off. "I like you like this better."

He sucks my inner thigh and I buck slightly as his mouth finds my clit and he circles it with his talented tongue. His wet hot mouth continues to swirl around my bud. "Oh fuck," I gasp as a wave of pure pleasure hits me.

"Towel. Off," I pant.

Damon lifts up long enough for me to yank it off of him. I'm trembling as he moves from my clit to my hipbone, leaving imprints of kisses as he makes his way up to my breast. He pauses, looking at them greedily, he rips off my bra. Yes, he actually rips off my expensive black Natori lace bra and tosses it aside, but I don't care because they were in the way of him doing what he's doing right now, which is sucking on my nipple, while massaging the other breast and flicking the nipple until it beads. He buries his face in my chest, he moves to the other breast and repeats the same ministrations.

I knock my head back and gaze at the ceiling, giving Damon better access to my neck as he climbs his way up my body. He kisses my jaw, and the sensitive spot right behind my earlobe. I intwine my legs with his, my hands tousled in his wet hair. I feel his hard as steel cock on my abs, causing me to arch my back with anticipation. He lifts his head up with a contented look on his face. "Condom," he states.

I admire his full naked form, down to his taught ass as he leans over and pulls one out of his bag and sheaths himself. "Optimistic?" I jokingly inquire.

He turns his head, smirking as he leans back down to shut me up with a kiss. "Prepared," he replies.

He positions himself between my legs and watches me as he slowly enters me. He gives me a moment to adjust to the sensation of being full and then continues to go deeper. Damon is extremely well endowed, and I can see why people say _bigger is better_ , because hell yeah, bigger is way better. I feel my face flush and then spread throughout every facet of my body. I am on fire and Damon is taking his time pushing into me. "Dammit Damon," I yell. "Fuck me!"

I hook my legs around his back and pull him deeper as he starts to slowly pull out and then thrust into me. I let out an audible cry as he continues to pound into me. Our bodies slick with sweat, I claw at his back and bite into his shoulder as he continues his assault, consuming me. I circle my hips, causing Damon to moan, and using his thumb, he presses my clit, making me completely unravel as he releases.

He lazily kisses my forehead, my nose, my jaw, my clavicle, and sucks on my lower lip before he collapses on top of me, burying his face in my neck, he bits me, returning the favor from a few minutes earlier. He lays there, splayed on top of me for a few minutes before he gets up and disposes of his condom. I feel my eyes droop by the time he comes back and lays next to me, pulling me tightly to him.

I wake shortly after Damon falls asleep, and carefully move his hand from my waist. I look at him and memorize this moment. He looks so peaceful, his lips slightly upturned in a smile, like he's having a good dream. I quietly get up, find my jeans and put them on. My tank top is across the room, so I tip toe over and slip it over my head, not bothering with a bra considering it lays in several pieces across the floor. I check on Damon, who's still fast asleep, before I grab by bag and making sure the Porsche's keys are still in my pocket, leave.


	11. Chapter 11: Found the Place to Rest

Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who reads and reviews my fic. After the last chapter, Elena is in an even more dangerous position. Not necessarily because of what happened in Mexico, but because she feels the life she's known her whole life slipping away and that makes her feel out of control. She's smart and definitely a scrapper, but she feels responsible for everything that has happened and doesn't want to get anyone else involved or hurt. Like the title for this chapter, Elena needs to find a place to rest her head and unburden herself, in order to survive, because she can't do it alone. Enjoy! -Jackie-

Chapter 11: Found the Place to Rest My Head

I trembled beneath him. His touch caused every nerve ending in my body to become newly awaken. I felt everything. He whispered in the shell of my ear how I felt so good and it sent shivers down my spine as I bowed to him, while he worshipped my body. I hated him for making me feel this way. I hated him for making me care when he lied to me. He's been holding back information this entire time and although he wants me to believe it was all real, I don't. I can't afford to take risks right now, especially when I have the benefit tonight to think about.

It's still in the early hours of the morning by the time I make it home from the San Diego hotel Damon put us up in. I smell like sex and Damon, which isn't something I entirely mind. I park the Porsche and walk to the front door, only to realize I can't get in. Damon has installed some high tech security system and failed to give me a way into my own house, well my own house for now. I still have to meet with Emma and look at places to live, another thought I push back until today's over with.

I leave my items in the car and do something that I haven't done since I was a teenager sneaking out of the cottage to meet Tyler at the rock. I climb the evergreen tree that's next to my bedroom window, and once I'm at the top, I pry open my window and jump inside. An alarm goes off, blaring throughout the entire cottage.

God fucking dammit. I'm going to kill Damon. I sprint downstairs and find a security box near the front door, and punch in the first numbers that come to mind, 122513. It miraculously works, the high pitched whirring noise stops and hopefully before reinforcements were to arrive.

Leaving the front door open, I walk to the Porsche and put the gun Damon gave me in the duffle and putting it on my shoulder, close all of the doors and lock the car. "Need help with that?" a familiar voice asks.

I spin around and see Matt grinning, his deep blue eyes twinkling, carrying his own duffle over his shoulder. It felt so good to see a warm familiar face, I almost cried. I dropped everything I was carrying and ran up to him, giving him a hug.

He squeezes me back and puts me down. "God, Elena. You smell like regret."

I punched him in the arm. "That's not how to talk to someone who's couch you want to crash on."

Matt grabs my bag and walks into the cottage with me. "So, what's with the Porsche? I don't see you as the luxury vehicle kind of girl."

"I borrowed it," I reply.

"I'm guessing this has something to do with Damon Salvatore?" he winks.

I close the door behind him and drop my things in the entry way so I can smack him again. "Stop reading gossip!"

Matt rubs his arm in mock pain and follows me to the kitchen. "I'd have to completely avoid the internet in order to not see pictures of you and Damon."

I spin around. "What are you talking about?" I only knew about the pictures from the club and the other ones that were doctored to look more recent. None of the pictures really have to do with Damon, except the ones of me at his club and him carrying me out, but I was hoping people would just think he was being a gentleman since he owns The Wave.

Matt's quiet while he starts to make coffee and I sit at the kitchen table. "There's a video of Damon flipping you over his shoulder and carrying you back into his hotel."

"What the fuck?" I yell, slamming my hand on the table. It's official, God hates me.

Matt holds up his hands in surrender. "Jesus Elena, I didn't know that you didn't know or I would've never brought it up."

"I want to see it," I demand.

"No," he says, getting a couple of mugs out of the cupboard.

"Why?"

Matt pours me a cup of coffee and hands it to me. "Because I know you, probably better than anyone, and I know that you are not in the right frame of mind to see it."

I smirk at him. "It doesn't matter, I can just watch it on my phone or laptop."

Matt actually laughs into his coffee. "Elena Gilbert," he sighs and points at the mess that is the cottage. Mugs and plates are in the sink and uncorked bottle of Malbec is sitting on the counter near the fridge, my computer still out from a couple nights ago. I think I'm more surprised Damon didn't clean it up before we left. "You left yesterday in a hurry which means your laptop isn't charged and you just got in, which means your phone isn't charged," he shrugs. "You suck at charging your phone. I feel like I spent half of high school letting you borrow mine."

Dammit he's right. I take another sip of coffee, too lazy and tired to plug any device in at the moment. I don't need to see it that badly anyways. It's out there already and I can't do anything about it. "So, why are you in town?" I ask.

Matt sits across from me with his own mug. "I know Caroline is in Europe, so I thought you could use a friend."

I side eye him. "And I need a place to stay until I have to leave for a shoot in Germany."

I smile, knowingly. "That's what I thought."

"Jeremy's worried about you."

"You saw Jeremy?"

"I was staying with him while I was helping Ronaldo with a fashion shoot at Alcatraz, of all places, it's supposed to be a juxtaposition of the harsh environment of an archaic-like prison with winter fashion," he pauses and takes another sip of his coffee. "Jeremy's worried about you because people have been asking him about you and your drug problem."

I cough into my coffee, which causes Matt to look at me knowingly. "When you're in trouble, you don't like to ask for help. It's like, the more you need it, the worse you are at asking for it."

"I'm fine, Matt. It's just a mix-up."

"Elena, you smell like a brothel, there are pictures out there of you using, rumors the restaurant is closing, and you look like you could do with a sixty year nap. I might not be a savvy businessman, but I can listen."

I shake my head. If I talk about everything, it becomes real and I can't deal with reality when I have to get ready for some ball tonight.

Matt shifts in his seat and clasps his hands together. "Okay, I'm going to give you something you really need. Honesty."

"Should I add Bailey's to my coffee before you proceed, Dr. Phil?" I ask, dripping with sarcasm. I really don't want to have this conversation, but Matt is serious and seems hell bent on getting me to listen.

Matt gives me a look that shuts me up. "You don't like to ask for help because it means you have to rely on someone else and you don't like to give people that much control when you have lost so much. It keeps you from getting hurt, instead you go on a self destructive warpath. Your parents deaths were not your fault. Jenna's death was not your fault, but the way you treat people when they just want to help, is your fault."

Matt takes my hand and squeezes it as tears fall down my cheeks. I study the wavy lines in the woodwork of the kitchen table, dozens of swirling and wavy lines on the same path, split by layers in the oak. I trace the notches with my finger, watching my tears pool on the surface. "I just think that if I never called them to pick me up, they wouldn't have driven to San Diego to pick me up and wouldn't have been on that road."

"Elena, you didn't want to be at that party because people started doing lines of coke and you didn't feel comfortable. It got out of hand, so you called your parents. You did the right thing."

"But Matt, if I had never gone or just taken the bus there never would've been an accident. That is a fact," I say through tears. "Jenna was stressed because I was acting like a brat. I was completely out of control and she had the restaurant and Jeremy to deal with. I know that the cancer exacerbated because of me."

Matt gets up and sits next to me, hugging me around the shoulder while I cry. I lean into the comfort of his chest. "There's a reason you cheated off of me in biology, Elena. You are not a doctor and you are not God. You cannot control whether or not someone else has cancer or not and your parents made the decision to pick you up, because they loved you."

I laugh into his forest green shirt. It's a sad heavy laugh, full of tears. He gives me time to get my breathing under control before he says anything else. "So, are you going to tell me what's going on with you? This may shock you, but I might be able to help."

I sigh, and Matt gets up to get bring me the tissue box before he moves back to his position across from me so he can drink his coffee. I proceed to tell Matt everything, from running with Damon, trouble with the restaurant, to the road trip yesterday. After I've told Matt all the dirty details, he gets up and takes the Bailey's out of my liquor cabinet. He adds a splash to my coffee and his, and takes a sip. "So you're telling me, you carted drugs across the border, you decided to take a few grams of coke, filled a container with diamonds and gold, got into a shoot out with drug pushers in Mexico, and slept with Damon and then walked out on him."

I drink some of the spiked coffee and smile morosely. "Yes."

"Why did you walk out on Damon?"

"That's what you care about? I just told you the Richard Lockwood has it out for me, the restaurant is in serious trouble, and you care about why I walked out on Damon?"

Matt shrugs. "You're obviously emotionally tied to Damon, so why you walked out on him gives me a clue as where you are mentally."

I shake my head. "What are you even talking about? Damon lied to me, Matt. He has been lying to me this entire time. He wanted to buy the restaurant, he's a Founding Family member, and he has this huge vendetta against the Lockwoods. I can't afford to trust him."

Matt sighs loudly, like I don't get it. "There you go again."

"Don't," I warn him.

"You're pushing someone away who genuinely cares about you. I can tell by the way you talk about him, you like him, maybe more than like. He lights something up inside you."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, he makes me angry."

"He makes you passionate. He consumes you. You've been having financial trouble with The Box, carted drugs across Mexico by yourself, but you spent most of our conversation talking about Damon," he pauses to take another sip. "I've never seen you like this with….well, with anyone."

"Okay, enough about Damon. You want me to ask for help, well I need your help."

"What do you need me to do?" Matt asks, without hesitation.

"Tyler's taking me to the benefit tonight…"

"Yeah, I know," Matt interrupts. "I still think you should go with Damon Salvatore, he looks much better in a tux," he adds with a wink.

"Anyways, I need you to help me steal Tyler's phone."

Matt gives me a wide eyed look. "You wanted to help," I reply. "Look, since Tyler's taking me, I've got an extra ticket. I'll distract him, take his phone, and pass it off to you."

"That's not going to work, Elena. Tyler's going to know that you took his phone, because his phone is practically attached to his him."

I shake my head. "That's the thing, Matt. You just need to check to make sure his hotspot is on, then hand it back to me and I'll slip it back in his pocket or fake an accidental switch."

"How am I supposed to know what his passcode is?"

I wave my hand like that's the least of our worries, I think I'm still riding the high after crossing the border yesterday. "I'll text it to you when I catch what it is. Knowing Tyler, it's probably still 0420, like it was in high school."

"But why do you need me to make sure his hotspot is on?"

I grin, because I've been thinking about this all morning. It's what distracted me on the drive back from San Diego. "You know how Jeremy works at Uncle John's computer chip company in the summers?"

Matt nods. "Well, when I was visiting Jeremy last summer, he was dating this girl Becky or something, and he suspected she was cheating, so he stole her phone, made sure her hotspot was on, and had me hack into her cell phone. I mean, he taught me how to do it, it's not hard. Smartphones are like mini computers, full of data and emails. You usually turn on a hotspot because you're in an area where you can't get a signal, which makes it easy to intercept the data. Cell phone providers use a 56-bit encryption for hotspots that's extremely easy to crack. I was able to see all of Becky's emails, text messages, and even her credit card information…and yes, she was cheating."

Matt just looks appalled. "How did Jeremy learn to do that?"

I laugh. "One of the guys in cyber security at Uncle John's company taught him. Ironic, right?"

Seeing Matt's hesitation, I sigh. I can't do this to him, and make him an accomplice. I haven't even told him the other part of the plan.

"I'll do it," he says. I look up, surprised.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It wouldn't be a Founding Family benefit if there wasn't some sort of scheming going on."

"Good, because I need to ask you to do something else," I hesitate for a moment, waiting for Matt's nod of approval. "You aren't still friends with Tyler, are you?"

Matt looks offended. "No! Especially not after the way he treated you senior year. He used you when you were at your lowest and treated you like shit. That picture floating around of you in your bra snorting coke was from Tyler, you know that right?"

"Wait, what?"

Matt nods. "He passed it around senior year to all of his teammates, and said you were easy. You were so out of it, you must have not noticed."

Fucking scumbag. "Matt, was this before or after Aunt Jenna was diagnosed?"

Matt rubs the back of his head, thinking. "After."

"Rat bastard. I swear to God, he is not going to be happy after tonight."

"What else do you need me to do?"  
"When I text you, I need you to take a picture. Karma is going to be a real bitch tonight."

Matt grins. "Elena Gilbert, I think you found your spark."

I knock my head back and laugh. Matt and I used to get in a lot of trouble once upon a time. It was always tame compared to the sort of trouble I got in with Tyler. We'd sneak into hotels and go pool jumping, and then go on midnight walks on the beach. We were caught once by the manager going into a hotel, and I lied and told the him that I was staying in room 237. The moment he walked to his computer to check, Matt and I sprinted out of there. I still haven't gone back to the Shorebird.

I set Matt up in Jeremy's room and take a shower before J&J arrive. After I plug it in, I can't help but check my phone to see if Damon texted, but he hasn't. After talking to Matt, I feel slightly bad about leaving him alone in San Diego, and now that I haven't heard from him, I feel worse. It's like I have to constantly remind myself that I can't trust Damon, so my mind doesn't float towards warm and fuzzy Damon feelings.

When I get out of the shower, I put on a white terry cloth robe. Caroline has J&J get me ready for the Christmas Jingle Ball every year, and they get pissy if I wear anything that could potentially be a problem when changing. I also put my things away and start a load of laundry. When I see the drug phone and makeup bag sitting in Damon's duffle. I put the phone in the drawer of my nightstand, take out the the diamonds and small gold pebbles, and run to my parents room. Underneath my father's side of the bed, there's loose floorboards where he kept his own gun and a lockbox filled with money and important papers.

I haven't looked here since I was a teenager, trying to find all my parent's secret hiding spots. I wonder, briefly, if anyone had since my parents died. The thought made me feel oddly empty, but I pressed forward, using my fingers to pry open the floor board. The first thing I see is a gun, which I leave, since I had my own in my room. I see one of my mother's journals, wondering why she would hide this specific journal, and another journal, except this one looked much older. Curious, I set both of them aside to take with me back to my room.

I take out the lock box and enter in my father's pin number, hoping it's the same code to the lockbox, my parent's anniversary date, mixed up. It clicks open, just as I hear Matt welcome J&J into the cottage. Shit. I ignore the other papers in the lock box and an envelope, and quickly stuff the container of gold and diamonds into the lock box, promising myself I'd look later. I place the floor board back, grab the journals and run to my room, where John and Johnny are waiting, sitting on my bed and riffling through my make up. They turn to look at me, just as I place the journals on my dresser.

"Hey, drug whore," Johnny screams when he sees me, giving me a huge hug, because this is a surprisingly normal greeting coming from him. Johnny's wearing his usual uniform of black skinny jeans and a black John Varvatos v-neck t-shirt and black boots. His jet black hair is long on top, and artfully buzzed on the side, showing off the multiple piercings in his ears. John wears a similar uniform, except his black hair has a teal streak in it, and his shirt is a Violent Femmes concert t-shirt and he wears a leather cuff on his right wrist. Other than that, the two best friends could be twins, both elegantly tall and lean, and both enjoy teasing me.

"So, you saw the pictures?" I ask, feeling deja vu from my earlier conversation with Matt.

"What pictures?" he laughs, breaking from our hug.

"I thought the video of the one and only Damon Salvatore carrying you back to the hotel was hawwwt," John comments, giving me a hug. "There are a few Vines of just him flipping you over his shoulder with various songs in the background. My favorite is the one to _Back that Ass Up,_ but I'm also partial to the one in slow motion with _Baby Got Back_ in the background."

It's official, I'm going to have to figure out how to drop off the face of the Earth. "Matt won't show it to me and I don't care to see it, if I'm going to be honest," I lie.

John shrugs. "You're missing out, I think I even got a hard on watching it," he moves each of his hands to my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. "I need to know," he says very seriously. "Does he have an MC?"

I narrow my eyes. "MC?"

"Monster Cock," he states.

My eyes widen and my cheeks immediately flush. I push John away and take the makeup bag out of Johnny's hands, because he's dangerously close to my luminous powder.

"Oh my God, the urban legends are true. He does!"

"Shut up!" I yell.

J & J both chuckle. "So, what are Caroline's instructions?" I ask, changing the subject.

"To make you not look like you," they reply in unison. Sounds like Caroline.

I hear Matt call my name from the kitchen, and put the make up bag back in my drawer. "I'd better see what Matt wants."

J & J get up to follow. "We need to set up in the living room anyways."

I make my way to the kitchen and see Matt carrying a huge black canvas bag with a zipper up the middle, by a clothes hanger. "Where do you want this?" he asks.

J&J gather around the dress. "Open it! Open it! Open it!" they clap over exaggeratedly like little children.

I hang the dress on top of the kitchen door and unzip the canvas. There is an audible gasp from everyone in the room.

"Valentino," Johnny said in a hushed whisper.

"It's from his 2015 galaxy collection. Caroline must've been playing off of the name Night of the Arts. Cleaver," John adds.

I walk up and reverently touch it. Caroline wasn't lying, it was long sleeved, but the sleeves and dress were made of a grey blue sheer tulle, decorated in geometric star designs made with diamond crystals and silver beads, the design becoming more heavy at the waist of the a-line dress, with pockets. The dress as a whole was complete ethereal, like angels spun it out of star dust.

"You're tits are going to look amazing," Johnny says. Matt laughs.

"I'm guessing this isn't the sort of dress where you need a bra," I remark, a little worried at the lighter beading on the bust of the gown.

"It's couture sheer, so you'll be fine," John says.

I cock a disbelieving eyebrow at them and zip the dress back up. J&J make desperate pleas to look at it a little longer, but I'm more worried that the longer I look at it, the more likely I'll be to pull something out of the back of my closet. Caroline being Caroline also sent shoes, accessories and appropriate under garments, which wasn't a whole lot of fabric.

I spend the afternoon sitting in a chair in my living room, which looks like a make shift beauty salon, talking to J&J while they do my hair, make up and nails. Matt left shortly after J&J came to get a tux and run personal errands. I repeatedly check my phone. Damon hasn't tried to contact me, but the Porsche is gone and keys to my front door were sent by messenger, along with a note saying that he'll pick me up at seven.

I hesitate with what to do, since Tyler is picking me up at that time. In the back of my head, I was hoping Damon would hate me for walking out on him and not want to go with me, but for whatever reason, he still wants to go. I'm guessing it has more to do with proving something to the Lockwoods, and less to do with me, so I decide to text him while John puts my hair in velcro rollers.

Me: thx for the security system. i'm not feeling well, so i'm not going 2NT. my friend matt is in town keeping me company

John peers over my shoulder. "Liar liar pants on fire," he mutters.

I throw him a scathing look. "Don't judge. It's for the best. Now he won't go."

"How do you know he won't just take someone else? It's not like it'd be hard for him to find a last minute date. I'd ditch your hair right now and go with him."

A combination of doubt and jealousy overcomes me. Maybe he will just take someone else. Did I make a huge mistake? _No._ I remind myself. He lied to me, and it's best to end it now. Damon doesn't respond, and I'm hoping that's a good thing.

I text Tyler to pick me up fifteen minutes earlier. He replies with a thumbs up emoji. John clucks his tongue disapprovingly as he looks over my shoulder.

"None of your damn business, John." I check my phone again. Maybe Damon emailed me.

"I didn't say anything," he replies knowingly. "Just promise me that one day you let me get you drunk enough so you'll spill the beans on this twisted love affair you have going on."

I scoff. "Considering you're a passed out drunk after a few shots of tequila, sure."

Johnny chuckles. "I can't help it if my girlish figure prevents me from drinking like a frat boy," John retorts defensively.

I feel some of my anxiety over the evening lift as they continue to banter back and forth. Soon, Matt comes back and we discuss the plan again while my hair sets and J&J get coffee. Matt's going to take my computer and set it up in a hotel room I've reserved that will be within close proximity to the event. One of the perks of Matt and I going pool jumping when we were younger, is we know the hotels and their hiding spots pretty well, and much of the hotel staff, especially the lower level staff is comprised of former classmates, which made getting a room near where the event is taking place easy.

The event is taking place at one of the Lockwood's hotels, simply called The Lockwood Hotel, because the Lockwoods like to piss over everything in Newport and mark it as their's. I almost can't blame Damon for trying to obtain something that the Lockwoods want. Almost.

Matt agrees to stay and answer the door just in case Damon tries to come, and I told him to just tell Damon the truth. Well, part of the truth. That I went with Tyler for personal reasons and that I need space to figure things out. I really hope Damon doesn't stop by, because I don't want Matt to have to deliver that message.

Tyler comes to the door as J&J put the finishing touches on my makeup and hair. They stand back to admire their work and take a picture of me to send Caroline, promising her I'll have the dress delivered to the cleaners first thing tomorrow. My hair is in a complicated chignon, pinned together with a few black pearl pins at the base of my neck with soft tendrils artfully falling to frame my face. My makeup took hours, but is relatively light. Johnny spent most of the time making sure my face is highlighted to make me, as Johnny puts it, _look like I came from the heavens_ , using silver grays to create a light smoky eye and pale pinks to highlight my cheeks.

"Oh my God, that dress is what dreams are made of. Literally. You look like a brunette couture Cinderella," Johnny says, touching up my neutral satin pink lipstick with a light gloss.

"The dress isn't too showy?" I ask.

"Showy?" John repeats, offended. "What's wrong with being showy?"  
Johnny comes up and fluffs the dress, walking around me to make sure everything is in place. "Honey, it's Valentino. The moment you put this on, you agreed to be anything but modest."

"Don't worry, Elena. Just as I predicted, your tits look amazing and that tulle beautifully shows off your back. The Tahitian pearl diamond drop earrings are perfection. Too bad you have to return everything."

Johnny smirks. "What did I say? Our couture Cinderella will turn back into a pumpkin by the end of the night."

I try not to laugh too hard, because they might scold me for ruining my makeup. Give them both air kisses, and grab the small Jimmy Choo silver clutch with the luminous powder, a compact with lip gloss, my phone, and keys to the front door.

The phone I took yesterday has been powered down, and is still sitting in my nightstand with my gun, until I figure out what to do with it. I know Damon set me up with a new security system, but I'm not taking any chances. How long was it going to take for them to tie me to the incident at the warehouse in Mexico? Who exactly is " _them_ "? The millionth thought I have to push out of my mind until I get through tonight. I should take a leaf out of Caroline's book and make a list: Current Reasons Elena Gilbert's Life is Complete Trash.

Tyler is waiting in the entryway, wearing a black tuxedo. I hate myself for thinking that he looks good, better than he did in high school; less of a baby face football player, more chiseled and refined. John and Johnny are fawning over him, while Matt hides in Jeremy's room.

When Tyler sees me, he scans me, eyes honing in on my chest and then makes his way to my face. "Taking the theme literally, I see," he says. "Ready to go?"

John and Johnny go from fawning over him to serving him dirty looks. Apparently not happy with his reaction to their work. I smirk, because that's how Tyler is; he'll only compliment if he's getting something in return or wants something in return. In this case, I'm already a willing date, so there's no reason he'd benefit from a compliment by making me feel good about myself.

In high school, when I was going through my little druggy stage, he'd tell me I was sexy when he wanted to make out in one of the empty classrooms at school, or when he wanted me to do a bump with him, he'd tell me I was such a free spirit. None of these compliments happened in front of other people because he didn't like to take the attention away from himself. This behavior is more of a reminder of who I'm dealing with.

I thank J&J and say good bye on my way out, promising to visit them in LA and take them to lunch. Tyler guides me to his Mercedes and opens the door for me, so I can hold up my dress. When we get into the car, he takes out his phone and punches in a code to turn it on before he plugs it into the charger. Without being obvious, I catch the first number, 0. Maybe I'm right and it is 0420, but I'm not willing to risk it.

Tyler is suspiciously silent, so I try to make conversation. "So, is your Dad going to be pissed that you're taking me."

Probably not the best topic to start with, but I have limited time to get a level of information from him, and I need to know where he's at. Tyler tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

"My Dad's always liked you," he turns to me. "Why wouldn't he want us to go together?"

It feels like a trap, he obviously knows something. Although, I could just be paranoid. I decide to be blatantly honest. "Because I'm the local drug slut and he wouldn't want you to tarnish your image."

He coughs, and takes a drink out of a water bottle he has in the cup holder, and doesn't say anything for a what feels like hours. "It's like I said on the rock. I like you, Elena. I want to be with you," he takes my hands and squeezes it, and I try my best to return his affection with a look of desire, which I think ended up looking like a grimace because he quickly lets go of my hand.

This isn't going well. "So, how's work at your father's company going?" I ask.

"It's going well," he states. Shit, this really is not going well.

I try a different tactic. "You were such a leader in high school, I bet that's translated at your father's company."

Tyler chuckles. "Remember in high school, when you made all those cupcakes for my election, and Kelly accidentally dropped them in the middle of the cafeteria when she was passing them out."

I clench my teeth. "You mean when Kelly purposefully dropped them in the middle of the cafeteria because you took me to the bonfire."

"Yeah," Tyler laughs. "I miss high school." I don't, but at least he's loosening up, even if it is at my own expense. "You were so fun, always up for anything. I could get you to cut class just to get stoned at our rock on Crystal Cove."

I'm not enjoying this delusional walk down memory lane, but it's an opening. "You always had the best hash and you'd bring hot bagels from Salt Water Bagelry. How could I say no?"

Tyler turns to look at me. "Only you could look sexy as hell with smoke coming out of her mouth. You'd take a hit and dance with your hands up in the air even though there was no music playing. You almost fell off of the hill."

I laugh. "I did fall. Scraped my knee and elbow. You just sat on the rock and laughed, and then offered me a bump of coke to ease the pain."

That was a dark period in my life. I was never addicted to the drugs or that lifestyle. I didn't need it to get through the day. I just wanted to not be me; the sad girl that got her parents killed. I need to divert this conversation before I start crying.

"So, why were you warning me about Damon the other day at the restaurant?"

Tyler looks at me. "Did you even google his name? Do any research on who he is?"

I decide to play stupid. "Why would I need to? It's not like I'm going out with him."

Tyler looks surprised. "But there were all those photos on the internet."

I wave my hand like what is he said is nonsense. "Are you really going to believe something you saw on the internet? I'm here with you, aren't I?" Only Tyler's smirk would make him look like a jackass. "So, why were you warning me about Damon Salvatore?"

"Do you know how he got his money?"

"Trust fund?"

Tyler shakes his head. "Kind of. His mom died and left him all of her money. She was a New York socialite who ran away to California as a teenager. He started investing the money when he was eighteen and by the time he was twenty had enough money to build his empire."

I shrug. "So, he's good at what he does and was wealthy at a young age. Doesn't exactly sound diabolical."

"He's ruthless. When he sees a company that he wants or he wants to buy land that's unavailable, he goes after it until he gets what he wants, destroying everyone and everything in his wake."

He sounds like Richard Lockwood, but I wasn't going to say that to Tyler. "Elena, when I say he'll do anything to get what he wants, I mean anything. He wanted his father's company, and was eventually able to take over the board, at what used to be Salvatore Capital, and when he was finally able to buy his father out, he dissolved the entire company. Employees were let go,' Tyler pauses to look at me. "His father died two weeks after Damon took over the company."

"How did he die?" I ask, not wanting to know the answer.

"According to the reports, he shot himself. But Damon was there, Elena. He was the one who found the body."

"So, what are you implying?" I ask. "That Damon killed his own father?"

Tyler nods grimly. "That makes no sense. Why would he kill his own father, after he already took over the company?"

Tyler thinks for a moment, which makes me wonder how much of this is true, or if this a distorted version of the truth. "He didn't want any loose ends? Maybe he wanted him out of the way. All I know is that the gun found at his father's penthouse, was in Damon's name. Damon was brought in for questioning, but they couldn't make anything stick."

"How do you know all of this?" I ask. "You're Dad? He's not exactly a reliable source."

"Check the papers, Elena. Google it. I'm not telling you something people aren't already thinking."

My stomach drops. Damon does have all those guns and was able to get me a passport on short notice. He was interested in the restaurant and I'm guessing it's no coincidence that he started running with me. He easily evaded _that_ question last night. He hasn't ever talked about his father, but he talked about his mom. He's an orphan, just like me. Both somewhat responsible for at least one parent's death. _Aren't we a pair_.

Tyler drives past a line of limos dropping people off, and to the valet. I guess Tyler didn't want to spring for a limo. "I think I saw your phone go off," I say, trying to get him to unlock his phone again before we get inside.

He takes his phone out of the charger and unlocks it. I see the third number, 2. I think I was right about the code, but I can't risk it. I check my own phone while we wait for the valet. Matt texted me, _Damon knows_. Crap. On a positive note, I think I figured out how to distract Tyler.

The valet opens the door for me, and takes my hand as I walk out. Tyler comes to my side and takes the crook of my arm. "Ready for this?" he whispers into my ear, motioning to the red carpet. I nod.

The red carpet isn't like a Hollywood movie premier red carpet or an Academy Awards red carpet. There are photographers from local blogs and magazines. Entertainment Tonight and E! are there, but I think that's because the Orange County Housewives are here. The carpet is about twelve feet long, and has a white backdrop with a Night of the Arts logo printed on it and various sponsors.

I didn't think the photographers would give a shit about me, but they do. They shout questions like, "Who are you wearing?" and "Elena Gilbert, how do you feel about the recent scandal revolving around your family's restaurant?" I ignore them and smile, but then Tyler answers for me.

"Lockwood Enterprises is involved in solving the matter at The Lunch Box. As a Founding Family, we are committed to taking care of Newport and preserving it's legacy."

Cameras go off, probably catching my _What the fuck?_ reaction to the shit Tyler said, but before I can say anything out loud to refute his lie, he closes my mouth with a kiss and holds my lower back as he dips me, driving his tongue in further.

Unlike the sweet and cheesy kiss Damon gave me when he worked at the restaurant for a day, this one isn't for me. It's all for show, so the cameras can get a picture of Tyler marking his territory. I willingly came to this event knowing I'd be a ping ping ball in a pissing match between two alpha males, but this kiss feels dirtier and makes my stomach turn sour. Nothing would make me happier than to knee Tyler in the junk. Problem is, I have to go along with it. I came as his date and I still need him. So, I kiss him back and promise myself that the moment I walk into that ballroom, I will drink a shot of vodka to disinfect whatever is swimming in Tyler's fluids.

Tyler pulls me up and leaves me alone to regain my balance, while cameras continue to go off and he talks to another reporter about Lockwood Enterprises plans to expand to Laguna Beach. I patiently stand by him, gnawing at my lip, ignoring reporters questions directed at my sex life, until Tyler takes my arm and directs me to the entrance.

The ballroom of the hotel leads out to the pool and carries a theme of Night of the Arts. Completely lit by twinkling lights and landscapes of the universe. Swirls of illuminated purple, orange and blue star nurseries decorate the ceiling, along with all of the constellations. Silver glittering table runners and geometric crystal vases filled with moon flowers and black roses. Ariel dancers look like angels or something unearthly twist and spin holding onto silver silk hanging from the ceiling making them look like living shooting stars.

Servers dressed in all black suits, carry crystal flutes of champagne, not colorful mixed drinks, reminding me that we are at a Newport function, and not a party. Tyler and I make the rounds, and I allow him to talk while I careen my neck, looking out for Matt and Damon. Most people ignore me, and I don't think Tyler notices the dirty looks people cast in my direction. I need to escape Tyler and catch a breath, so I make my excuses and go to the open bar outside by the pool, to order that vodka I promised myself.

Holding the skirt of my dress, so I can walk faster, I dodge Founding Family members that I know and would like to avoid. I order a vodka soda with a lime and watch my the bartender make my drink.

"Elena Gilbert, I didn't expect to see you here," says a familiar voice. I spin around to see Tyler's rugged good looking uncle.

I smile. "I could say the same about you," I joke. "I thought you were surfing in Australia, or is it Mexico? Or Tahiti? I lost track after your father completely disowned you and gave your entire inheritance to Tyler."

Mason chuckles. Mason is anything but a Lockwood. He left Newport the second his trust fund kicked in, but when he was younger, he'd hang out at the Lunch Box, eat fish tacos and flirt with Aunt Jenna. Even before he was old enough to flirt, he'd come by and my mother would ply him with date shakes and cookies after a surfing competition, or he'd come by to just sit on the patio, when he was on the outs with his parents. Founding Family members tend to take care of each other, excluding Richard Lockwood's attempt to ruin everything my family built.

"I learned a thing or two from my old man, and knew where to invest my money," he says, spinning a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. "How are you doing, Elena? I haven't seen you since…"

"The funeral," I finish. "I'm still standing."

Mason clasps his free hand on my shoulder and squeezes it. "I miss her every single day," he says, with complete sincerity. "If there's anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask. Especially if it's something that will piss off Richard."

"Watch out, I might hold you to that," I reply.

"Why are you here with Tyler? Jenna told me, and I quote, _you hate him with the fire of a thousand suns,_ " he asks.

I take a sip of my vodka, wondering how much I can tell Mason. I know I can trust him, but I don't want to burden anyone else with everything that's going on. I look around, making sure no one can hear. "Tyler wanted to make amends, and I'm letting him," I say with a shrug.

Mason analyzes what I said for a minute. "I have a feeling it's going to take more than a date to a Founding Family benefit to make amends."

"Oh, Tyler's going to make it up to me, whether he knows it or not."

Mason smirks at that and we clink glasses. Tyler isn't Mason's favorite person since the whole matter of inheritance came up. Tyler used the fact that Mason didn't want any part in his family's company to his own advantage. "So, why are you here?" I ask.

"My mom found out I was in town, and I knew it would piss off Richard."

My laugh gets caught in my throat as a warm arm snakes around my waist and pulls me close. My heart races and I feel my cheeks flush. "Damon Salvatore," Damon holds out his hand to shake Mason's. Mason shakes his hand, with an amused expression on his face.

"I know who you are. You're the businessman that makes my brother see red. I think there's a dartboard with your picture on it in his office," he pauses to take another sip of his drink. "I'm Mason Lockwood."

There's no hint of anger or resentment in Mason's voice. If anything, he says it in admiration. Damon takes a sip from my drink and puts it back in my hand. "I'm flattered Richard has a picture of me," Damon says.

"I'm sure there are little hearts all over it," I joke. Damon pinches my waist, which causes me to squeal.

"Well, it's nice to see you, Elena," Mason says. "Save me a dance."

I nod as Mason leaves to talk to someone else. Damon spins me around, and cups my face so I'm forced to look him in the eyes. "You left me. Twice."

I should swat his arms away, especially with Tyler close by and prying eyes, but I can't bring myself to. His touch, so warm and soft on my cheeks immobilizes me. "I couldn't….I can't…." I stammer, not knowing what to say. "Damon, I can't do this right now."

I turn away from him, and cast my eyes around the pool to see if anyone noticed. "I have to go," I say, walking away.

Damon catches my wrist, and I look up into his eyes, silently pleading with him to let me go. He looks hurt, but he also looks worried. "You look stunning, if it isn't obvious."

I smile, knowing this isn't the last I'll see him tonight. I got off easy, most likely because Damon would've had to drag me across the courtyard and through the ballroom to get anywhere private.

I leave Damon at the open bar and find Tyler talking to his father. I down the rest of the vodka and leave it on a server's tray as I make my way over to him. Seeing me, Tyler wraps a cold arm around me. "Richard," I say. "It's good to see you." I lie.

Richard kisses me on both cheeks. "Elena Gilbert. I didn't think you were still interested in these events."

I plaster a smile on my face. "The Lunch Box helps sponsor this event every year, Richard. Why wouldn't I come?"

"And yet, I don't see your logo anywhere, or the Lunch Box's name," he says, pointing around the room. "I guess the committee refused your donation this year, or did your check bounce? It was kind of my son to offer you a ticket and a date to help your reputation."

I continue to smile, even though I'm boiling inside. "It's extremely kind of Tyler to take me tonight," I say, dripping with sarcasm. "And kiss me on the red carpet in front of all those photographers, because as you know, I love being photographed, which is convenient because photographers and videographers always seem to find me," I let out a laugh. "It almost like someone paid them to stalk me."

Tyler's expression is blank, but Richard looks ticked off because I threw him off his guard. His expression is cool and calculated. "Maybe it's best if you take a beat from the cameras, Elena, and focus on figuring out the financial mess you're in. You're mother was always such a private person. She wouldn't like knowing her only daughter sacrificed the reputation of the family for a little media fame."

I stay composed, and look him in the eye. "You're right Richard. Maybe I should take a beat. Do you think Pete would offer me a ride on one of his boats? By the way, how is his eye?"

Richard completely cracks, and I can see anger flood his face. He already knew I was at the docks that night, and I wasn't planning on pretending otherwise. "Enjoy the free meal tonight, Elena. I recommend the fish, it came in fresh from my docks this morning."

"So, it's not going to give me food poisoning?" I ask sweetly.

"Take care of yourself, Elena," Richard says frowning, before he leaves to talk to someone else.

"What was that all about?" asks Tyler.

"Nothing. This party isn't anything like the ones we went to in high school, huh?" I ask, trying to distract him.

He smiles suggestively at me. "It could be," he starts to say, but his phone goes off, so he checks it. I peer over and look at the number he presses to unlock it. 0420. I'm sure of it. I take my phone out and text Matt the code, and the pocket he put it in.

"Hey, let's dance," I say, once Tyler puts his phone away. "It's our duty as Founding Family members to teach these stuffy people how to dance."

Laughing, Tyler pulls me to the dance floor. He holds me close as we sway to Fred Astaire. I feel eyes boring into my back as people watch the town drug slut dance with the golden boy of Newport. Tyler pulls me closer, as I catch Damon's eye. Tyler's hand moves low to my ass, and I don't bother moving it.

Damon's glaring at us with enough venom to poison the entire room. He strides forward, just as I see Matt get on the dance floor with a random redhead, that is definitely not his type. Damon pulls us apart, not caring that people are watching. I quickly catch Matt's eye and nod ever so slightly.

"What are you doing?" Damon hisses at me, pain evident in his expression.

"Hey," Tyler says. "You can't talk to my date that way."

Oh shit. "I'm not doing this right now, Damon," I plead.

"I can't believe you," he says with disgust. He's really pissed.

"I'm dancing with the person who took me. That's all," I say, hoping he can read between the lines.

There seems to be a level of understanding, but his anger flashes to the surface as Tyler drags me away. "Let's go, Elena. We can dance later."

I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of this dress. "Tyler," I say. "I need some air. I'm going to step out for a minute. I think Sarah Fell wants to talk to you because she's been staring daggers at me all evening."

Tyler looks around to see Sarah wearing a low cut strapless red dress, and casting longing looks in our direction. Tyler seems pleased, so he leaves without so much as a _don't be long_ or _see you soon_.

I walk into the hallway and making sure no one follows, walk to room 101, right next to the ballroom. I knock four times, and wait for Matt to answer. "Hey," he says as I run in.

"How did it go?" I ask when he shuts and locks the door.

"You were right about the passcode, and his hotspot is on," Matt says.

"Damn, you were stealth on the dance floor. Do you think he noticed?" I ask.

Matt chuckles and shakes his head. "He was too busy watching you and being very pleased with himself that you and Damon were fighting about him."

I shake away the guilt. Seeing my computer on the desk, I get to work. Matt looks over my shoulder as I attempt to do what I did for Jeremy last summer, but something is wrong.

"I can't get a connection," I say. "I think we're too far away. I have to be able to see his hotspot in my wifi and I don't see it."

"Elena, you can't go in the ballroom with a computer," Matt argues. "What are you going to do, hide under a tablecloth?"

I shut my computer and shake my head. "No, time for plan B, but it's a little risky."

I look in the bag I had Matt bring, and find my old phone. It's actually not old, it's new but I dropped it the moment I bought it. I might not be good with phones. It's completely cracked and broken, won't even turn on, but it's the exact same phone as Tyler's.

"I brought this in case Tyler didn't have a phone case," I explain to Matt. "I need you to steal Tyler's phone again."

I explain the plan to Matt, but he shakes his head. "That's cold Elena, especially for you."

I shrug. "I need to know what's going on, and other than breaking into Lockwood Tower, this is my only option."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he says.

Putting the cracked phone in the other pocket of my dress, Matt and I leave. "Don't forget to wait for my signal and text me when you have his phone."

"How are you going to know it's from me, without being obvious?"

"I have your phone number set to the S.O.S. vibration," I say as we walk back to the ballroom.

I grab a glass of champagne and down it. I find Tyler by the pool, talking to a man I don't recognize. I walk towards Tyler, who greets me with a smile. "Elena Gilbert, this is Ricardo Alvarez, one of my father's business associates."

The man turns to me, and grins. He takes my hand to his lips and kisses it. "Estás bella, Elena Gilbert," he says in a thick accent. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard great things."

I suddenly become dizzy, and feel bile rise in my throat. Ricardo. RICARDO. The man that must run Richard's drug operation in Mexico. When they mentioned Ricardo, I thought they were just saying the Spanish version of Richard. I try to compose myself, so I don't look too obvious. There's no way he knows that I am the person responsible for the deaths of several of his men and I know the location of over half a million dollars worth of jewels.

No one knows about the phone, because everyone who did is dead. But what if there were people still there. What if people know. What if there were cameras in the warehouse? On the dock? At the border? My head swims with so many _what ifs_ , that I don't realize Ricardo left and Tyler is trying to get my attention.

"Elena?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

My eyes cast around for Damon or Matt. I spot Damon at the bar drinking amber liquid out of a tumbler. How apt. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to move on. When I see Matt a couple feet away, talking to a former classmate, I make eye contact and nod, as I did before.

My eyes flick up to Tyler, and I lick my lips. He holds my gaze and grabs my hips, pulling me closer to him. "Let's get out of here," I whisper. "I have party favors." I add knowingly, motioning to my purse.

"They haven't even served dinner yet," Tyler smirks.

I quirk and eyebrow. "I think we both know there are other tastier things than some catered dinner."

I pout my lips and cock my head to the side. Tyler leans down and is about to kiss me, when Damon pulls us apart for the second time that evening. "Elena's my date, Damon. She chose me, not you."

I back away as Damon goes in for a punch, not caring who's watching. Caught off guard, Tyler gets hit square in the face. I feel my phone vibrate, as Tyler barrels into Damon and they both get knocked over. Knowing everyone is paying attention to their fight, I slide the broken phone in my hand and hide is as I go down and try to break them up, and drop it near Tyler. "Stop it!" I yell, trying to break up the fight.

Tyler and Damon are oblivious to me. "You guys are acting like idiots," I scream. "Damon stop, please."

Damon stops, gets up, brushes off his suit jacket and stalks off, not even bothering to look in my direction. I help Tyler to his feet. Damon really punched him, but Tyler doesn't seem to be bothered. My eyes cast down towards his phone, as Tyler stumbles forward, accidentally kicking the fake phone. "Tyler, your phone," I shout as it plunks into the pool.

"Awe shit," he says, checking his pockets as he watches his phone dance to the bottom of the pool. It takes a lot of effort not to smile, because something is finally going right.

"Let's go inside and have dinner," I suggest. "You need to calm down."

Tyler looks at me warily. "I thought you wanted to get out of here."

"I did, but I also don't want you to get in trouble from you father because I want to selfishly take you elsewhere," I rationalize.

Tyler agrees and we make our way to a table. We missed the first couple of courses, but as we sit down, our server brings the entree. Tyler must've ordered for me when I left. Fish. I can't eat it without thinking about the conversation I had with Richard, so I pick at the rice pilaf and vegetables.

I text Matt underneath the table, confirming that I was successful and asking him to start uploading all the information to my computer. I have a limited amount of time before Tyler contacts the phone company or someone figures it out. I don't want to risk it, and I'd rather drop his phone in the garbage somewhere then carry it around.

Matt confirms that he's uploading the information, with an _okay_ emoji. Someone calls my name and asks me a question. I look up and notice Tina Fell. Her blonde hair worn long and curly, draping artfully over one side of her pink off the shoulder dress. There is nothing friendly about the look she gives me. "Earth to Elena," she says. Everyone at the table laughs, including Tyler.

"God, are you already on something? For Tyler's sake, at least wait until after dessert to shoot yourself up," she seethes.

"I'm sorry, Tina. I forgot how much you love attention, _all the time_ ," I say with mock sincerity. "Was I not paying enough attention to you?"

People sitting next to me that I don't recognize snort into their food. "I was just going to ask you where you stole your dress from?"

"Stole?" I ask.

"Well, we all know you can't afford Gap, and definitely not couture," she remarks. "Or did Damon Salvatore buy it for you in payment for your services?" she adds suggestively.

My face flushes with her implications. I look over at Tyler, who's busy eating his food. I give her a steely look. "It's good to know some things still haven't changed since high school," I say. "Like the fact that you don't have a date and you're wearing a prom dress."

Color drains from her face. "Elena," Tyler admonishes.

I turn to him, unable to take the hypocrisy of the situation. "Don't say my name like that after getting into a fist fight with Damon," I hiss quietly. That shuts him up.

Tina ignores me for the rest of the courses, which is fine. I sit quietly and try to find Damon. He's sitting at another table, making small talk with a bunch of older Founding Family members. His eyes find mine, and I try to wordlessly apologize. He looks at me heatedly for a moment and I hold his gaze. I can't tell if it's desire or anger. My money is on anger, but the look still causes me to ache with need.

By the time dessert is served, a delicious passion fruit tart with a lime gelato, Matt texts me that he finished uploading everything. I text him to be on stand by, but leave with my things and chuck the phone, if I'm not back in thirty minutes. I had an additional plan, but it seems risky after the past 48 hours, especially since I just met Ricardo.

Members of the gala are served a coffee course or are partaking in dessert wine when Mayor Carol Lockwood gets up to speak at a black podium. She waits for the audience applause to die down before she speaks into the microphone. "Thank you. Throughout the year, the FFOC get together and organize events to help various local organizations. I have to admit that the Night of the Arts is my favorite event. Not just because of the lengths the committee goes to in order to make sure tonight is memorable, but because of what the proceeds of this benefit goes towards. The Children's Hospital of Orange County strives to ensure that every child in Orange County has access to outstanding care. There's one person who has gone above and beyond in lending his resources and not only donating time, but also happens to be our highest donor."

I look over at Richard Lockwood, expecting him to get up and make a speech, but his fists are clenched together on the table and he looks like it's taking every amount of effort to not blow up.

"Damon Salvatore, would please say a few words." Carol says. I look at where Damon is sitting and he looks almost as pissed as Richard. I don't think he expected to be called up for a speech. Damon takes elegant strides towards the podium, kisses Carol on both cheeks and get in front of the microphone. By Carol's reaction to his embrace, it seems as though Damon has won over the housewives of the Founding Families.

"Honestly, I came for the open bar," Damon says, earning a hearty laugh from the audience. "My mother spent hours pacing the halls of the Children's Hospital of Orange County, delivering socks, clothing, diapers or forcing my father to be Santa Claus on Christmas morning, delivering presents to those families that spent their entire savings or took out a second mortgage on their home, just to provide their child with the care they needed," Damon finds my eyes and looks directly at me. "She always taught me that the real gift, is being able to help. Thank you."

I feel my body go warm and my cheeks flush. The audience gives Damon a standing ovation, and I proudly stand with them, and smirk knowingly at Damon. I completely forget about Tyler, who's seemingly upset. He grabs me by the elbow, preventing me from continuing to clap. "Let's get out of here," he whispers into my ear.

A chill runs up my spin, that warns me to not go any further. I glance at the table in front of Tyler and notice a collection of tumblers. I was so preoccupied with Tina and Matt, that I didn't notice he started drinking heavily. I forgot his pattern. You go to enough of these functions, you learn people's tells. Tyler keeps it together, so he can keep up appearances, until dessert, and then starts pounding the alcohol. I guess some things don't change. However, this could be the opportunity I've been waiting for, but there's a part of me that worries I'm pushing my luck.

Except Tyler doesn't give me a chance to change my mind, instead he takes my purse, grabs me by the elbow and steers me toward the exit. "You wanted to party," he whispers harshly in my ear as he guides me toward the elevator. No one notices my panicked state, and why would they? I'm the black sheep of the Founding Families. The joke.

 _Did I say thatI wanted to party?_ "Tyler, you're hurting me. Let go."

He let's go with a sigh, once we're on the elevator. "Where are we going?" I ask.

"I got us a room," he replies, sticking a key card into a slot and pressing P22.

Oh, shit shit shit shit. This isn't good. "It's been a long day, can you just take me home?"

"Why?" he asks. "So you can fuck your boyfriend, Damon Salvatore?"

He's scaring the shit out of me, but if I act defensive and don't play along, it'll get worse. "Why would I do that, when I came with you?" I sooth, taking my purse from his grasp. "I chose you, Tyler. Let's have some fun."

Tyler's eyes are on me, so I don't dare text for help. He seems to lighten up as we make our way to the top floor. I might as well see this plan through. My best bet will be to get him to pass out or drugged out and then make my escape. We get off the elevator and he guides me to the room. Tyler opens the door from behind me, effectively caging me in, so I have to go in. When we get inside the spacious suite that looks out over Newport, he looks like he's ready to pounce, but I stop him, explaining that I need to freshen up. He complies, heading for his bags, which are already up here, sitting in the entryway. Not only was he presumptuous, but he was planning on staying for a while.

I walk to the bathroom and filter through my bag for my phone. I won't be able to take a picture without it being obvious, but I can film and angle it so I'm not in the shot. Bypassing all my messages, I turn the video camera on, and stick it in the outside pocket of the clutch, with the camera facing out, and just have to barely touch it to make it start filming. I also go into my settings, and turn off the timer for my lock screen, so I can leave it on.

I walk back out and strategically lay my clutch next to the television. I was about to offer some of the coke I stole, but in the minutes I was in the bathroom, Tyler is already smoking a joint, has a tumbler full of bourbon and lining up rows of coke on a mirror with his black Amex. I guess I know what was in his luggage. On the news you hear about drugs in poorer neighborhoods and how many felonies are a result of being under the influence of drugs. Half of the people incarcerated are in jail for drug offenses. But you rarely hear about the 1%.

I've lived in Newport Beach my entire life, and could've easily gotten my hands on a joint by the age of ten. They're at every high school party, bonfire, and pep rally. Students with million dollar trust funds can be found brazenly carrying bullets of coke around their neck while walking the hallways, and never get in trouble. So, it shouldn't surprise me that Tyler came prepared.

He looks up at me, his eyes already bloodshot, hooded. His jacket and tie are off. He sniffs and rubs his nose. Looks like he started the party without me. "I'm inviting some people over later, but I thought we could get a head start," he eyes my chest longingly. I bite my lip, contemplating my decision. I need to get out of here. Screw the racy photo, I don't like the idea of being here alone or with a bunch of Tyler's friends.

"I think I should go, Tyler. I'm tired," I say. "I'm just going to get an Uber." I walk over to my phone and tap it to turn it on, but Tyler's behind me. He grabs my hand, forcing me to leave the phone where it is and pulls me to the bed. I try to twist out of his grasp, but it just seems to encourage him. He takes me by the arms and throws me on the bed. He pounces on top of me, and I try to fight him off by pounding on his chest and scratching anything I can reach, but he ends up ripping the top of the dress in his attempt to get me to lay still.

"Tyler, no!" I scream, as he lifts the skirt of the dress up. I try to knee him, but he has me pinned to the mattress. I scream pleas of _no_ and _stop,_ but Tyler is relentless. He slaps me hard in the face, twice, to get me to shut up, and it hurts like hell. My vision blurs as he grabs the tumbler he was drinking and takes a sip. He grabs me by the neck, holds me down, and straddles my torso.

"I can make you much more compliant, Elena," he says, pouring straight bourbon in my mouth. "You never let me shoot you up before, but I think there's a first time for everything. I can't imagine Damon Salvatore will want you after tonight."

I whimper, tears streaming down my face. He continues to lift up my skirt and tugs at my panties. "Tyler," I try to plead, trying to keep my legs shut. "This isn't like you."

He hits me again, and I feel myself loosing consciousness. I try hard to clear my vision. He's left me, so I attempt to roll off the bed and get up, but Tyler slams me back on the bed. He rips the sleeve of my dress and ties a blue tourniquet to my upper arm. I move my arm out of the way, but he easily grabs it. "I told all of my friends that they'd each get a turn with you, but I have first dibs."

He grabs a needle. "They were so excited after they saw that picture I sent the papers. The one with you in a bra, and it wasn't hard to doctor the other one to make it look like you snort coke. We both know you only did that when you wanted to piss someone off."

I try to scream but nothing comes out. Tyler just pours more bourbon in my mouth and laughs. I spit it out into his face, which causes him to drop the needle and curse. "You fucking bitch," he yells as he smacks me again. I continue to fight consciousness, squiggling underneath Tyler's strength. Abandoning the needle, he pins my hands above my head, and unzips his pants. I focus on the ceiling as I feel his cock on my thigh, hard. I did this. I put myself in this situation. I deserve this. I just hope Tyler shoots so much heroin up my veins, that I don't feel it when I die.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_ There's pounding on the door. "Elena!" Damon yells. Tyler puts his hand over my mouth to silence me. I bite his hand. "Damon!" I try to yell, but it comes out raspy.

Damon unlocks the door, swings it open, and runs straight for me with a wild distressed look on his face. Tyler stuffs himself back in his boxers and stands up ready to fight.

"You mother fucking bastard," Damon yells, laying one powerful right hook across Tyler's jaw. Tyler falls to the floor and groans, unable to get up. Damon goes down to punch him again, but when he hears my croak, trying to get him to stop, he's immediately at my side.

"Elena," he says, looking me in the eyes and gently sweeping the hair out of my eyes.

He tenderly pulls down my dress and releases the tourniquet. "Did he…" he asks.

I shake my head. "Water," I try to say. Damon gets up and on his way to the mini fridge, kicks Tyler in the stomach. When he returns, he sits next to me on the bed, lifts me up, balancing me against his chest, and pours water in my mouth. He also hands me two aspirin. When I nod that I'm okay, he wraps both of my arms around his neck and scoops me up. "Purse," I croak.

Damon carries me over to the television stand so I can grab it, and carries me out of the hotel room. I lean into his chest, my arms wrapped around his neck and inhale his famiiar scent, feeling safe for the first time in hours.

When we get to the elevator, I'm finally able to speak. "How did you know where I was?"

Damon looks down at me. "I saw you leave with Tyler, but you looked panicked. I tried to get to you, but by the time I left the ballroom, you'd gone up the elevator to the 22nd floor. I would've been here sooner, but Tyler didn't make the reservation under his name, so I bribed the receptionist to get me a key to every room on the 22nd floor."

"Bribed?" I say, surprised.

"I can be _very_ convincing," he replies.

The elevator stops at the 18th floor, so I begrudgingly make Damon put me down. The phone falls out of my purse, so I pick it up and put it in my pocket, almost falling over in the process, still not quite okay. Damon steadies me by standing behind me and holding me around the waist. I try to close the torn sleeves, so it doesn't look ripped. "My dress," I mutter to myself. "Caroline is going to kill me."

Damon squeezes me tighter, almost a reminder not to worry about silly things. We reach the lobby, Damon wraps an arm over my shoulder and helps guide me out of the hotel. Two police officers, talking to the clerk at the front desk turn and look at us, but Damon doesn't notice. He whispers to stay in the lobby while he has his driver pull the limo around. I just whisper thank you, and Damon kisses me on the temple as he leaves. I sit on a blue couch in the lobby, when the police officers approach me.

Maybe they heard about what happened upstairs. "Elena Gilbert," the officer says.

I nod. "We need to look in your purse," he states, frowning.

"Why?" I ask.

"We have reason to believe you're carrying narcotics."

"That's ridiculous," I lie. "I was just at the Night of the Arts benefit."

His gaze falls on my ripped sleeve and collar. "Your purse, Ma'am," he says, holding out his hand. I hand it to him and hold my breath as he goes through my things. He sees the luminous powder, and holds it up eye level to inspect it. Then he opens it up and smells it, then passes it to the other officer for confirmation. He nods, and takes out his hand cuffs, and spins me around, clasping my arms behind my back and locking the cuffs. "Elena Gilbert, you are under arrest for drug possession. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him or her present with you while you are being questioned."

The officer continues to ramble off my Miranda Rights as people gather around and watch, some people still leaving the benefit. My eyes search for Damon as the officer guides me outside, and instead they find Richard Lockwood, standing outside, his arms folded with a smug look on his face, as the officers push my head down and seat me in the back of the police car, taking me to jail.


	12. Chapter 12: Never Let Me Go

Author's Note: Hi everyone! Thank you for all of the positive reviews. In this chapter, you'll really see everything getting to Elena. She's gone through a lot and it's starting to wear her down. She's smart and she's fought back. She's empathetic and compassionate, but also manipulative and stubborn. The enormity of what she's involved in is getting to her. It's the realizations that she comes to in these moments that are key to her surviving. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! -Jackie-

Chapter 12: Never Let Me Go; Never Let Me Go

It's not like it is on TV or in the movies, or at least my experience wasn't what I imagined would happen. When I was arrested, I sat in the back of a cop car while the officers drove to an In-N-Out drive thru and ordered me a vanilla milkshake and themselves double-double cheeseburgers. They removed the cuffs temporarily, so I could sip my milkshake, and even let me keep my purse after they took out the luminous powder and put it in a clear plastic bag. Of course, knowing Officer Song my entire life has helped. The one who read my Miranda Rights, Officer Kirk, _like Captain Kirk, except not remotely like Chris Pine_ , has a stick up his ass.

Officer Song explained who I was, and how he knew me, and Officer Stick-Up-His-Ass still didn't relent, until Officer Song explained that I am best friends with the Sheriff Forbes' daughter. When his career was potentially put on the line because he might have mistreated me, he became extremely nice and offered to go through a drive thru before we hit the police station.

When we get to the police station, I'm taken through a swinging door past the front desk to a large room with several rows of desks and a few offices in the back. Officer Kirk handcuffs my left wrist to a dark wood chair next to his desk, and locks my purse in his bottom drawer. He brings me a bottle of water and even unscrews it for me. Since it's close to one in the morning, the office is empty, which makes me think I am not getting the normal treatment, because isn't one in the morning when most debauchery goes on? Getting treated well is not necessarily a good thing.

Officer Kirk gets out a legal pad and pen. Very old school. He sits casually back in his chair and looks me over, making me wish Officer Song was here. "What is someone like you doing with cocaine in her purse? Where did you get the drugs?" he casually asks.

I'm not an idiot, I watch Brooklyn 99 and Law and Order SVU with Matt. I know what he's doing. "I'd like to make a phone call," I say.

"We haven't booked you," he states. " _Yet_."

"I noticed," I reply, taking a swig of water with my free hand.

He points to my cheek. "Care to tell me how that happened?"

Where Tyler hit me must've started bruising. Hopefully, it isn't as bad as it feels. "I'd like to make a phone call," I repeat.

"You do realize that you are looking at facing very serious charges, Ms. Gilbert," he says. Ha! Scare tactic. If only he knew what I've had to deal with in the last 48 hours.

"We don't take drug possession lightly," he adds. I almost laugh, and here I thought the cops were in on the little drug ring going on. Well, maybe not all cops.

Officer Kirk just sits there and waits for me to reply, tapping his pen on the desk. Annoying. "I'd like to make a phone call," I say for the third time.

Frustrated, he gets up to leave. I sit in the chair and look around, thinking while I finish the water bottle Kirk handed me. They probably can't do anything with me right now until someone shows up to book me. Or maybe they're just hoping to wait me out until I give up information.

After sitting for close to an hour, I start nodding off. Officer Kirk comes back and unlocks the hand cuffs to release me from the chair, and then cuffs me again behind my back. He marches me out the front door. Damon is sitting with his elbows on his knees, the collar of his white shirt dress shirt unbuttoned and he's twisting his tie in his hands. When he sees me, his face lights up and he looks relieved. "Elena," he says walking towards me. His gaze falls to my hands cuffed behind my back and the officer directing me away from Damon. I give him a sad smile, wishing I could touch him.

"Don't say anything." Damon orders, while Kirk pushes me down another hallway. "My lawyer will be here any moment."

As we walk further and further away from the reception desk, I can still hear Damon yelling about consequences and law suits. "You're boyfriend arrived before you did," Officer Kirk says. "He's been demanding to see you, threatened everyone that worked here, and refuses to leave."

I smile to myself. Damon's my pillow, always there to soften the blow when I fall, catching me before I hit solid ground. My blue eyed lean, clever and annoyingly possessive pillow.

Officer Kirk puts me in a room with a two way mirror and a steel table with two chairs. He rearranges the cuffs so I'm chained to the table. I look in the mirror. My eye isn't swollen, but there's a purple bruise showing on my right cheek, and there's purple spots on my neck from where Tyler choked me so he could force bourbon down my throat.

Someone knocks on the door, and Kirk answers. Richard Lockwood walks in, looking very smug. He gazes at me for an uncomfortably long time, before addressing Kirk. "Take off her cuffs," he orders.

Kirk doesn't argue. He walks over and takes off my cuffs. "You can go now, officer," Richard says.

Kirk promptly leaves. "Must be nice to have everyone bow down to The Richard Lockwood," I say, rubbing my wrists. "How did you get the authority to interrogate me? I can't imagine Liz being okay with this. Let me guess, she's home with food poisoning? I didn't see her at the benefit earlier."

Richard sits across from me and smirks. So, he did do something. Was this all a part of his plan? "The corruption in Newport runs deep. I wonder if the Orange County Register knows that the husband of the mayor uses the Newport Police Department to carry out his own agenda?" I ask.

He scoffs. "No one is going to believe you, Elena. You were publicly arrested, and the media has had a field day with those pictures of you that were released."

My eyes narrow. "You mean the ones you took or manipulated and then released?"

Richard swallows back what he really wants to say, and diverts the conversation. "What happened to your face, Elena?"

"A souvenir from you son," I reply. Richard doesn't flinch. I glance at the two way mirror, hoping someone is watching.

Seeing my gaze, Richard smiles knowingly. It's creepy. He looks like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, all unnaturally white teeth showing and his lips curved upward. "No one is watching or recording, Elena. I assure you, this conversation is just between you and me."

Well, it's good to know that our police department is just as corrupt as I thought. Liz probably has no idea, or she's trying to actively fight it within. "What do you want, Richard?" I ask irritably.

"You are about to be booked for drug possession on my property, Elena. Once you're booked, you'll go to jail. I can easily get them to drop the charges. I can make all the bad press you've been receiving go away, and completely clear up your reputation and your family's reputation. I'll even pay the bill for all those people you got sick at The Lunch Box," he says, like he's offering me the world.

I laugh. "That's what you're offering in exchange for the restaurant?"

"It'll only get worse, Elena," he says. "There was a lot of paraphernalia found on the twenty-second floor of my hotel, in a room reserved under your name. I'm guessing if I lift up the ripped sleeve, I'll find a bruise from a tourniquet. All I have to do, is send the police up there to search, plus the testimony of my son, and you'll be in jail long enough to miss Jeremy's graduation from art school, his marriage, his first born…"

I swallow and try to remain calm. "Why do you want the restaurant? Is it really worth all of this trouble? Would my mother want her daughter to be treated this way by someone she thought of as a friend?"

Richard moves slightly in his seat and readjusts his hands so their clasped in front of him. "You're mother didn't want you to be caught up in all of this, Elena."

"All of what?"

He shakes his head. "Just sign the restaurant over to me, and this will all go away. It's your only option, Elena."

"Do you know what your son did to me? He hit me several times across the face," I say, pointing to the bruise on my face. "He attempted to rape me," I show him the tear in the collar of my dress. "He held my throat and forced me to drink straight bourbon," I show him the marks on my throat. "I could tell the police what happened, or go to the press. What would that do for your beloved son's reputation, Richard?"

Richard actually laughs. "No one will believe you, Elena. I can just as easily sell a story to the press about how you did that to yourself for attention." He makes a _tsk_ noise, shaking his head back and forth like he's actually disappointed.

Under the table, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I glance down and click on the camera icon. "You know what I love about Valentino, Richard?" I ask, clicking on the video. "Invisible deep pockets. A lot of high end designers don't realize the need for women to have pockets, but Valentino designers always pay attention to the details." I click play on the phone and show it to Richard, who looks horror struck.

It's a distorted angle, because it was sticking out of my purse, but the sound is clear and you can definitely tell what's going on. Tyler hitting me, choking me, getting up to grab his heroin supplies, me trying to fight him off, clearly saying no. I don't have all of it, because the video cut out after seven minutes, but it's enough.

Richard lunges for the phone, but I pull it back, and mockingly tsk him. "Richard," I say calmly. "Do you think that I haven't already emailed this to several close friends? It's even been privately posted on youtube, just waiting for me to make it public." I'm only sort of lying. I had time to email it to myself, but that's all. I didn't want to take my phone out when I was being detained, in case I was being watched. I was pretty sure I wasn't allowed to be online and I doubt they would've given me their wifi password.

Richard sits back and tries to read me. I have to be careful with what I ask for. If I ask for the moon, he might tell me to _fuck off._ Richard isn't stupid, he could spin that video to his own benefit and make it look like I lured Tyler up there, especially since the room is under my name, but I also don't think he wants that kind of video out there or to have to deal with it.

"Go ahead," he says. "Send it. My lawyers will have that taken down and you'll have a lawsuit to deal with."

I shrug. "What do I have to lose? You made sure I hired Evan who didn't pay bills and took all my money, you're behind the bad reviews, the scandalous pictures of me all over the internet, being drugged at a club, the tainted fish, the health department inspection, probably my audit and I'm guessing if Damon hadn't have saved me, Tyler was under orders to plant drugs in my purse and call the police when I left, or were they already there?" Richard's lips are pursed, but he doesn't take his eyes off of the phone. "I don't think Tyler was capable of making a phone call when I left," I say almost as an afterthought.

Richard doesn't even refute my accusations, he just slowly nods his head, like I'm repeating information we've already been over. "I shouldn't be surprised that you already had drugs on you, but given your history and the level of stress you're under, it's understandable."

I glare at him, and press the share button on the phone. "What are you doing?" he asks.

I flick my eyes towards him. "You don't seem to care if I share this video. I'm not on Twitter, but as the assistant to one of the most famous stylists, my friend Caroline Forbes happens to have just over two million, and I'm sure she'd be more than happy to post it."

Richard looks torn, as I slowly punch in Caroline's email. "Wait," he says. "What do you want?"

I put my phone face down in front of me. "I want to be released and I want you to make sure the charges were dropped. I want what you promised earlier, I want the money back that you stole and I want you to stop going after me and the restaurant. I'm not going to sell it to you Richard."

Richard shakes his head and I see the evil villain mask that he's been wearing slowly come off. "Elena," he says with actual sincerity. Like for the first time since this whole thing started, I actually see the guy that would give me an extra slice of flag cake with a knowing wink, on annual the 4th of July Block Party. "This is bigger than you or me."

I don't even know what that means, but I think it has something to do with Mexico. "I'll make sure you're released and the charges are dropped, and I'll back off of you and the restaurant. That's the deal," he says.

He doesn't mind backing off because the damage is already done. I think about the video and how angry I am, but Richard makes millions off of being able to read people, and he knows something that I only just realized. I won't send it. No matter how horrible Tyler was and how close he came to drugging me up and raping me, I've known him my whole life and I know he isn't this horrible of a person, he's just caught in his father's world.

There's something else. I'd be choosing to release a video of me being violated, and I can't do that. Even if there are pictures of me out there in compromising situations, those were made public without me knowing, and that feels very different from releasing a video of Tyler abusing me. If tonight's proven anything, it's that I can't go to the police with this. Plus, there's something about Richard that makes me think he's in trouble, because I saw, for a fraction of a second, not just desperation, but sad desperation.

"If you make another attempt to get the restaurant or go after me, I'm releasing the video or selling it to the highest bidder to cover the debts you created," I say, and then I decide to take a risk and say something else as he gets up to leave. "Richard, it's really sad to know that someone who loved my mom, would be so vindictive towards something she loved so much."

He turns around as he opens the door, but doesn't meet me in the eyes. "I did love her," he says quietly as he walks out.

Officer Kirk comes back carrying my purse, and guides me back out to the reception area. Damon is arguing with someone at the front desk.

"Richard Lockwood is with Elena Gilbert? What authority does he have to interrogate someone?" he demands.

The overnight clerk cowers under Damon's glare. "I'll make some phone calls, Mr. Salvatore," she says. Damon backs up and runs his hands through his hair, which makes the clerk even more frantic. He turns towards me, and I hold up my hands to show him that I'm handcuff free from behind Officer Kirk's back as we walk through the turn style.

Damon seems to relax and strides towards us. "You're free to go," Officer Kirk says while handing me my purse.

I smile weakly, suddenly shy. Damon must hate me. I don't regret walking out and I still have a million questions, but I used him tonight to get what I wanted.

"You waited," I lamely state.

Damon grabs me, enveloping me in a hug, holding me close. "I waited," he says into my hair, rubbing my back soothingly. We're standing in the middle of a police station and I refuse to let go of Damon. I think it's the result of a long night.

"Elena," he whispers.

"Uh huh?" I reply, still clinging to him.

"I'm happy to carry you like this out of here, but we need to go," he says.

Oh, right. I let go and shake my head, embarrassed I got caught up in the moment. Damon's not, he just takes advantage of the situation to bend down, scoop me up and carry me out in his arms. A couple of the officers actually hoot as Damon carries me out to the limo. Felix is waiting by the door, scrolling through his phone. When he sees us coming, he smiles broadly.

"Mr. Salvatore making you work overtime?" I ask Felix. Damon admonishes me by pinching my butt, which causes me to yelp. I can't believe Damon made him wait around all night.

Felix just politely nods and opens the door. "I'm compensated very well, Ms. Gilbert."

Damon puts me in the car, tells me to wait, and shuts the door. The limo isn't like the limo you rent at prom, this one Damon probably owns. I can tell because the interior feels like Damon. The seats are large black leather, there's dark oak paneling, an illuminated bar with a glass mini fridge. There are two small flat screen televisions, one turned on to CSPAN and the other to a boxing match.

I sit in the back of the limo, take out my phone, see twenty missed calls and thirty text messages, turn off my phone and lie down, with one single thought. Caroline is going to kill me. I ruined her dress, and although I know she'd understand, it leaves her in a tough spot with an important client. I'll call her in the morning and deliver the bad news. Wait, it is morning. I'll call her when I get home; hopefully she'll have had wine with her lunch. Lots of wine.

Damon climbs in and moves my head so it's resting in his lap. He strokes my head, playing with the loose tendrils. "Do you trust me?" Damon asks.

My brows knit together as I consider him for a moment. My impulse is to argue with him. Why's he asking me if I trust him? Does this mean he's going to do something that might be considered untrustworthy? But then I think about the actual question; he wants to know if I have faith in him to do what's in my best interest. "Yes," I reply.

He kisses me on the forehead lightly, then the nose, and then softly on the corner of my mouth. Then he scoots back and repositions my head on his lap. "I'm taking you to my place in Century City," he says. I make to argue, but he puts his index finger on my lips. "Nuh uh. You trust me, remember?"

I swat his hand away. "I can't Damon. There's too much going on in Newport, right now."

"Like looking at all the information you stole from Tyler's phone?"

I glare at him. How the fuck did he know? Damon looks smug as he pulls something from his pocket. "I had a nice conversation with your friend Matt tonight regarding your treachery," he says, putting a flash drive in my hand and closing it. The information Matt downloaded.

"Treachery?"

"Going with Tyler tonight when you clearly were going to go with me, just to instigate a fight between me and Tyler, so you could steal information off of his phone," he scolds. He's not angry, more amused and kind of impressed.

"I…" I start to refute his statement, if only to explain myself, but Damon places his index finger over my lips, shutting me up.

"See?" he says. "We have a lot to discuss, and we need to do it somewhere where we'll have privacy."

I put my hands over my eyes, which are growing heavier by the minute, and Damon keeps stroking my hair and rubbing my back. I think he's putting me in a trance, because I can't seem to find another argument, instead I lull off to sleep.

XXXXXX

 _Cold dead hands scarred with various tattoos wrap around my neck and force liquid fire down my throat. I try to squirm and fight, but I'm immobilized, forced to look at the crowd of the same man with dark eyes. I'm trapped. I'm going to die. The copies of the same man open his mouth to let out a mocking laughter, but instead diamonds and gold nuggets pour out of his mouth, spraying me, suffocating me burying me in jewels._

"No!" I scream, bolt upright in a foreign bed, covered in sweat. Damon runs in and I'm so relieved tears start streaming down my face. He's still in his slacks, the buckle of his belt undone, shirtless. He sits on the bed and pulls me to him so I'm lying on his chest with his arms wrapped around me. "I'm here. I'm here," he soothes, rubbing my back calmingly in a circular motion.

"Don't leave me," I cry into his chest.

"Never," he whispers, holding me until I'm lulled back to sleep.

I must've been out cold, because I wake up actually feeling rested. My hair is suspiciously down and make up has been taken off. It must be close to three. I sit up, and shift the white comforter so I can get my bearings. It's different from the penthouse at his hotel, this place feels special because it's personal. Like it's giving me a glimpse in who Damon really is. I'm currently sitting in a California King bed with a white duvet, which contrasts with the dark oak bed frame. The bedroom furniture matches the dark wood of the bed frame. Damon walks out of what I assume is the bathroom in dark wash jeans that hang low and a black v-neck tee shirt, his hair a little wild in a way that only looks perfect on him.

I suddenly look down to see what I'm wearing. One of his white shirts and nothing else. Great. How did he get my dress off without waking me up? My dress!

"I have to make a phone call," I say. "Where's my phone?"

Damon points to the nightstand next to me. "No, good afternoon?" he asks sardonically.

I put my finger up, grab my phone and walk to the nearest door, open it, realize it's Damon's massive walk in closet, and close it. "This way," he says, walking through another door. I follow him through the expansive penthouse to a sliding glass door. Damon opens it to reveal a deck with an infinity pool. I don't have time to gape at the fact that he lives on the top floor of a forty story luxury complex, complete with his own pool deck. "Take your time," he says, shutting the door behind me.

I sit on one of the lounge chairs by the pool and dial Caroline's number. God, please let her not fly back from France and kill me. She answers with a scream. Shit. "I don't know how you knew I needed the dress today, but thank you for delivering it so fast. I think we've finally become telepathic soul sisters," she says.

When Caroline and I were in the fifth grade, we both snuck out of our houses and met at the Pacific View Memorial Graveyard at midnight. We sat at the grave of Honoria Fell, each pricked our thumb, clasped her hand and my hand together, intertwining our fingers and smeared our thumbs together while chanting "Soul Sisters", over and over. We each swore we had a greater understanding of each other as kindred spirits, but we still couldn't read each other's minds. Disappointing at the time, but I don't think I ever want to know what's going on in Caroline's mind.

"You got the dress?" I ask.

"Yes! The dress, the shoes and jewelry. A carrier delivered them to the office just as I got to work," she pauses, thinking about what she said. "Did you go last night? J&J sent a picture, but there's no way you could've gone and had my dress delivered that fast."

"It was an early night," I lie. I hate lying to Caroline, but I don't want her to freak out over what really happened.

"Look, I've got to go. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay and that you got the dress. Thanks again for everything."

"Right," she says, not believing me. "Bye then," she quickly says before she hangs up. Ugh. Maybe the telepathy is working.

After reading through several profane text messages from Matt involving a lot of eggplant emojis, about how much he _liked_ Damon, I reply thanking him for last night, which he promptly replied _is that what Damon told you this morning?_ I send him a winky emoji with a reply of I'll be in touch.

I walk up to the ledge of the deck, and take in the view. It's a typical sunny day in Los Angeles, and from this height, I can see the Getty and I can see the ocean. If it weren't for the haze, I'd be able to see Catalina Island from here. I hear the sliding glass door open and feel Damon sidle up next to me, handing me a cup of coffee. "How did you know to send Caroline the dress?" I ask, taking a sip.

Damon puts his hand behind his neck, thinking. "You were worried about your dress last night, so I asked Matt and he told me."

I nod into my coffee. It was very sweet that he found the exact Valentino and exact everything. Must've worked some of that billionaire magic to find everything last minute. "Thank you," I reply. "Caroline would've killed me if I sent her the dress I wore last night."

"I'm glad I could help," he says sincerely.

"We need to talk," I say. "But first I need something to wear and a shower," I say pointing to his shirt which covers my thighs, but leaves me feeling naked because it's white and I'm not wearing any underwear.

He walks closer to me. "I like you like this," he says, playing with the hem of the shirt, slowly inching it higher.

I cock an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm sure you'd love to lock me up in your ivory tower, wearing your clothing, and at your beck and call."

His fingers graze the apex of my thigh, causing my breath to hitch. "Don't tempt me," he whispers, removing my hand and walking to the door, motioning for me to follow.

Damon guides me to his Italian tiled bathroom, which is the size of the first floor of the cottage. There's a dual walk in shower and separate deep bathtub. A few Neiman Marcus bags sit on the counter, in between his dual sinks. "My assistant picked some things out for you," he says. "There's towels in the closet and feel free to use anything else."

When the door shuts behind him, I look in the bags. At first I think his assistant hates me because she or he bought me a couple of dresses, some Agent Provocateur lace panties and a few bras. I was hoping for something comfortable that wouldn't give Damon easy access to my pussy and distract us from our conversation, like jeans and tee shirts or active ware.

In the other bag are shoes and make up essentials. It's so efficient and thought out that it makes me feel like Damon has done this before, until I actually look at the dresses. They're soft cotton Rag and Bone tee shirt dresses that wrap and tie around the middle. The shoes are black Vince tennis shoes with a little zipper up the side and a pair of soft pink scalloped leather Chloe flats. The items purchased were meticulously thought out with me in mind and what I'd feel comfortable in. Something I would've bought myself if I was out shopping with Caroline.

After a long shower, I change into the dress, pull my hair into a wet bun, put on Creme de La Mer moisturizer, forgoing makeup and decide to go barefoot. I'm brushing my teeth, when Damon walks in. "A little privacy would be nice," I mumble with a toothbrush sticking out of my mouth.

He playfully swats my butt and starts putting the things he bought me away. My makeup and brush go in an empty drawer, he takes the bags of clothing and walks off with it. I watch him like an anthropologist studying the habits of another culture: The domestic alpha male. I curiously follow while brushing my teeth. He walks to his closet and starts hanging up the other dresses in an open area of the closet, folds the underwear and stacks it neatly in a drawer, lays the shoes neatly underneath, and gathers the bags and shoe boxes in his hands to throw away.

Damon spins around, catching me study him and cocks an eyebrow. I squeal, embarrassed and run to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste and rinse my mouth. He walks to the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, raking my body with a satisfied smile on his face. "I like you in my bathroom," he says.

I smirk. "Lucky for you, I like your bathroom."

"I'm going to feed you and we'll talk," he motions me to follow him to the kitchen. I am apprehensive. This could go well or horribly considering it's the first time we'll have had a chance to speak since San Diego.

I sit on a stool at the his kitchen counter. He takes a glass bowl full of green grapes out of the clear glass stainless steel refrigerator and puts it in front of me. "Do you have someone take care of you penthouse while you're gone?" I ask, popping a grape in my mouth.

He nods, taking out a loaf of whole wheat bread, what looks like sandwich fixings. "Hannah takes care of all the shopping and cleaning at all of my Los Angeles residences, depending on where I'm staying."

"Residences, plural?"

He takes out a couple of plates, and places one slice of bread on each plate, and spreads an aioli on the slice. "Some are just investment properties," he says, not fully answering my question.

I pop another grape in my mouth. "You bought enough dresses to last me a few days. How long are you expecting to keep me captive?"

Damon doesn't look at me. He continues to add white cheddar cheese and deli meat to the sandwiches, which isn't a good sign. We've barely talked and we're already about to get into an argument. "I need to explain," he says.

My brows knit together. "So explain."

"Elena, you need to stay a while," he says, slicing the sandwiches in half.

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I was joking earlier about him locking me up here. I have work I have to do at the restaurant, I have to move, Matt's in town, and I have a cell phone with the location of close to half a million dollars worth of gold and diamonds, not to mention the amount that I stole. I don't have time for this. I get up to leave, but Damon grabs my wrist. I glare at him. "I can't stay, Damon. I have a life in Newport and time sensitive responsibilities. I know that The Lunch Box is small potatoes compared to your empire, but it's _my_ responsibility."

"How did you get out of police custody?" Damon asks, flipping the conversation to something else.

"I made a deal with Richard," I reply.

"See," he says, letting go of my wrist and handing me my plate. "We both have things that need to be explained, and I promise you, you will understand why you need to stay here by the end of this conversation."

I relent, because I'm hungry and I really don't feel like going back to Lockwood Land right now. We take our the bowl of grapes, our plates and bottles of sparkling water to a black oak kitchen table.

We both don't want to talk about what we really needed to talk about while eating, so Damon and I bounce from topic to topic and then circle back to the same topic.

"You own a movie studio, right?" I ask.

Damon looks at me suspiciously. "Yes," he pauses to take drink. "Looking to act? Do you have your Academy Award acceptance speech ready?"

I scoff. "The only acting I did was two nights ago in San Diego, and it as Oscar worthy."

"Ouch," Damon mockingly puts his hand to his heart like I shot it. "You wound me Gilbert, and I'm not talking about the scratch marks you made on my back."

My face flushes at the memory. "Well, I did leave." I regret it the moments the words leave my lips. It was a biting, cruel and a completely untrue thing to say. But he's so confident, it doesn't even faze him. He just smirks.

"What can I say? I like the chase," he replies, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"And if I'm caught, what do you do with me then?" I counter. I'd probably become a member of the Damon Salvatore Conquest Club.

"Keep you in my ivory tower," he replies, simply. Like it's a fact. I think I actually see red.

"Well, it's a good thing I can out run you."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Did you want a tour of the studio?" He asks.

"Is that some sort of pick up line? Do girls really fall for that?"

"I don't need pick up lines," he says flatly.

I choke on a bite of the sandwich, and start coughing and laughing at the same time. It's not the cutest reaction. Damon actually looks worried, so he slides over his bottle of sparkling water, since mine is empty. I take a sip. "Sorry," I say, taking another drink. "You're blatant arrogance caught me off guard."

Damon shrugs, popping a grape in his mouth. "So, what deal did you make with Richard?"

"If we're actually going to talk, I'm going to need alcohol," I state, pushing my plate away. Damon takes our plates, and I follow with the empty bottles and bowl of grapes.

"Red or white?" he asks after we put the items away and clean up the kitchen.

"White," I reply. Damon uncorks a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from Napa and hands the entire bottle to me, then grabs a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle aged bourbon and motions for me to follow him.

We walk out of the kitchen to a sitting area with a modern slate fireplace and deep grey leather sofa and two arm chairs with a coffee table made of an industrial hard wood. A wool throw and accent pillows of grays and blues that remind me of Damon's eyes, adorn the furniture. I take a swig from the wine bottle as I sit down on the couch, which is deep and really comfortable. Damon sits on the adjacent chair, and takes a drink.

He doesn't say anything, so I start. "The only reason I went upstairs with Tyler was because I wanted to take a picture of him snorting a line and possibly use the picture as a bargaining chip with Richard."

Damon shifts in his seat, and takes another drink. "You look distressed after I spoke at the benefit."

I nod. "I was, and I wanted to back out, but Tyler was so off, that I thought I'd take advantage of him being drunk. So he took me upstairs and we arrived at the hotel room, I told him that I needed to use the restroom to freshen up. I had coke in my purse."

Damon lets out a frustrated groan. "Where did you get the coke?"

I take a longer swig of the wine. At this rate, I'll be out by the time I actually get to my questions. "I ummm," I pause.

"Elena…"

I take a deep breath. I have to remind myself that this isn't even the worst of it. "I stole it when I made the delivery to Newport and put it in my luminous powder make up," I say, rising an octave.

Damon glares at me and takes another swig of bourbon. "You could've died if they caught you. These people don't hesitate to take a life. You get in their way and they will put a bullet in your head or snap your neck."

"Save the lecture, Damon. I knew the risks." He shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair. "When I was in the restroom, I also positioned my phone so it could record what was going on. I just had to tap the screen. I left the restroom and realized I didn't need my coke because Tyler had already started the party. Things escalated and then you came, but I was at one point able to record the whole thing." I skipped over the gory details, Damon doesn't need to hear that and I don't want to recount it.

Damon's eyebrows raise. "You were able to record what Tyler did to you?"

"Yeah. The video wasn't great, and cut out a few minutes before you came, but you could get the idea of what was going on."

"I want to see it," he says.

"Hell no," I reply.

Damon gets up to, I assume, retrieve my phone, so I run after him. "Damon, I said no!" I yell, trying to beat him. I grab his arm and try to pull him back, but he barrels forward. Worst part is, he knows my passcode because he gave me that phone and I haven't bothered changing it. I actually try flinging my arms around his neck and jumping on his back, but he just carries me with him, almost giving me a piggy back ride. When we get to the bedroom, he flings me on the bed. I make one last desperate attempt to stop him by kicking my phone out of his hands, but he just holds it high above me.

This is so embarrassing. "I can't watch!" I take one of his pillows and throw it over my face.

I hear Damon watching it right next to me. Why is he with me? I've done nothing but drag him through the shit that is my life. He might have withheld information and might still be withholding information, but he has always been there for me. Why though? This video may well be his breaking point.

I hear the video stop, but refuse to remove the pillow off my face. "You can come out now," he says.

I shake my head beneath the pillow, even thought I don't think he can tell I'm shaking my head. "It's safer under here," I mumble.

He straddles my waist and removes the pillow off of my face, resting his hands on either side of my head, boxing me in. He hovers above me, looking into my eyes. "You are a warrior. My warrior princess," he says, leaning to give me a chaste kiss that leaves my skin feeling tingly.

I scrunch my nose confused. "You're not mad?" I honestly thought he'd storm out, the video is pretty NC-17.

"Oh, I'm going to fucking kill Tyler," he says with an evil grin. "But you not only fought back and survived, you were smart and resilient, and if you ever put yourself in that kind of danger again, I am going to lock you up in my ivory tower."

I push his words of empowerment aside and sit up on my elbows. "I don't think you understand," my voice starts to crack.

Damon raises his eyebrows. "What don't I understand?"

"I'm in the middle of it," tears threaten to break. "It's just going to get worse, Damon. If I block out the enormity of what's going on and just focus on what I need to do just to make it through another day, I can ignore the rest." I lay flat on my back and cover my eyes with my hands. "It's catching up to me, Damon, and I no longer see a way out of this without someone I care about getting hurt."

"Hey, hey hey," Damon says calmly, moving my hands and wiping the flow of tears with his thumb. "We'll get through this."

We lock eyes. "We will," I reply.


	13. Chapter 13: Never Let Me Go

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry that this update took so long. I've been back at work and it's been extremely stressful, but I think I finally found spare time to write! Anyways, I'll just leave it at that. I hope you enjoy this chapter of Arms of the Ocean.

Chapter 13: Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go

I'm ready to have a real conversation. One that involves words and not sentences laced with sarcasm. I'm ready to holster all of my doubt and be honest with Damon. It's a lot harder than it sounds, because sometimes I can't help but provoke him or lash out. It's a fun dance we do that ends up spinning us in circles as opposed to actually getting anywhere.

We're sitting back in the living room and I'm only slightly tipsy. "Before we continue, you can't come on to me," I say.

Damon smirks. "I'm not going to do anything that you don't want."

I roll my eyes. "Cute," I reply dryly. "Look, I'm serious. We have a lot to discuss and we need to have a real honest conversation, without the flirty subtext."

He arches a brow, giving me that look that turns me into a puddle. "Flirty subtext?"

I wave my hands in the air. "See? This is what I'm talking about."

He pretends to wave a little white flag in surrender with his right hand. "Fine. Let's have a very boring conversation about Richard Lockwood," he says while sitting down and taking another drink. "What did he say when you showed him the recording?"

"Richard has an in with the police department. He brought me in for questioning, but it was informal. I think he just wanted to show how much pull he has with any government run institution, because he ordered the officer take the cuffs off of me and had all the cameras were off. He told me that he'd release me and undo what he did, if I handed the restaurant over to him," I grasp the bottle of wine in my hands and trail a finger over the condensation. "Essentially, he said that it was his plan all along to have me arrested. The fact that I actually had coke in my purse was a surprise because everything was supposed to go down differently. Tyler's room reservation was made in my name and there was additional drug paraphernalia in the room. He threatened to have the police search the room, and add to my charges. Tyler was supposed to slip drugs in my purse, which is why the police were already in the lobby. I wouldn't have handed over my purse when they asked, but they had reason to believe I had drugs because Richard, the owner of the hotel, was the one who called them."

Damon runs his hands through his hair. "So, no matter what you did, you knew you'd end up at the police station."

"Yes, seeing Richard in the lobby solidified my suspicions, and I knew I had the video, so I was pretty sure I wouldn't go to jail."

Damon nods, thinking. "I shouldn't have left you."

I shake my head. "You couldn't have known that I'd be arrested in the five minutes you were gone. It was going to happen no matter what. Richard would've found a way to get me alone in a secured room."

Damon takes a swig from his bottle and sets it a little too forcefully on the coffee table. "It kills me knowing you were alone with him."

"Damon, I've known Richard my entire life. He loved my mother," I stretch my hands out in front of me because I cannot believe I just said that out loud. Something to think about later. "He's conflicted right now, I saw it. For a sliver of a moment, I saw someone who is scared. He told me that this was bigger than both of us, so whatever is going on, I don't think that Richard is the one pulling the strings."

Damon shakes his head. "Elena, how can you defend him after what he's done?"

"Because I know pain, and as big of a dick Richard Lockwood has been, he's in over his head. I met Ricardo Alvarez last night."

Damon's eyes flash with recognition. "Did you say, Ricardo _Alvarez_?"

I nod. "Yeah, he's the Mexican contact for Richard. This whole time I thought Richard and Ricardo were the same person, but I think he's responsible for the Mexico side of Richard's drug organization." God, that felt weirds to say- Richard Lockwood, drug lord.

"Elena, do you know who Ricardo Alvarez is?" he asks, seriously.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Didn't you just hear me?"

"He's one of the most notorious drug lords in South America. He's like the modern Pablo Escobar."

My eyes widen. He knows my face and my name, and it won't take long for them to connect my face to the person who knows the location of half a million dollars, stole his crucifixes and killed his people. I'm going to be killed. I'm going to be flayed and left at the Mexican border as food for vultures.

"Elena, are you okay? Elena. Elena!" Damon panics, he runs to the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of water and a cool cloth. He sits next to me and brushes back my hair.

"You're sweating," he places the cool cloth on my head while I lean back. "Take deep breaths."

What did I get myself into? He'll easily link me to the restaurant or find out where I live. I should warn Jeremy and leave the country. "I did something, Damon."

Damon sits back. "What did you do?" he demands.

I sit up and place the wash cloth on the coffee table, then take another drink of no longer chilled white wine, not entirely pleasant, but has the same effect. "You know how I had to take drugs to San Diego?" I explain. Damon nods. "Well, they gave me a phone, so they could track my location and so they could contact me. After I delivered the drugs, they gave me two returning shipments full of crucifixes stuffed with diamonds and gold. On the way back, I started thinking about the endgame. If I return successfully, are they just going to let us go? The more likely result is they'd turn me into the new Evan and use your imprisonment or torture to get to me, so I knew that I needed insurance."

Damon leans in. "So, you used the return shipment as insurance. How?"

"You know where you taught me to shoot?" Damon nods. "I hid the return shipment there and pinned it on the phone they gave me."

Damon's eyes widen. "You were going to exchange the location…."

"For your safety," I finish. " _Our_ safety. Now they're all dead, and I have the phone with the location of half a million dollars, plus I stole some of the gold and diamonds."

"Why did you take the jewels?"

I shrug. "I don't really know. I wasn't planning on pawning them off, but I had a gut feeling they could come in handy later on. Maybe trace wherever they're getting it from. Why wouldn't they exchange cash? Why gold and diamonds?"

Damon thinks for a minute. "You can trace money and the value of cash is dependent on the market. Gold and diamonds are a more secure exchange, if you can pull it off. Question is, where is Richard getting his gold and diamonds? If this is how he's consistently exchanging his product, how is he obtaining that much without drawing attention to himself?"

"Where does Ricardo fit into all of this?" I ask.

"He has the cocaine and whatever other dugs Richard is selling, or he's able to obtain it from a contact in Columbia that makes it."

My head may explode. "So I have to worry about another person that's involved?"

Damon stands up and starts pacing. "Elena, you've been inserted in a drug cartel, there's a lot of factors involved. There's something you should know."

I lean back against the plush couch and put my forearm over my eye. "What?"

"Look at me," he demands.

"No. Looking at you isn't going to make all of this go away," I mumble.

Damon chuckles. "And walking through life with your eyes covered is going to help?"

"I can't believe your laughing right now."

Damon gently clasps my wrist and moves my arm. I look into his sky blue eyes and see no trace of humor. He's serious. I sit up. "What is it?" I ask.

"My contacts at the border told me that a group of men, known to be part of Ricardo's organization crossed the border," he says.

Oh. God. "You brought me here because you think they're after me."

Damon nods. "We did the unthinkable. We escaped Ricardo Alvarez's grasp and lived to tell the tale."

"Not only that, but I have something he wants. How did you know they were part of his organization?" I ask.

"I didn't. There's a group known as the Crucifiers that match the description of the men at the warehouse and the docks. They crossed the border. I thought they were working with Richard, but after what you said about meeting Ricardo Alvarez last night, I think that the Crucifiers are part of Ricardo's organization.

"Why are they called, the Crucifiers?"

"Because they feel like it's their divine right to reign down justice on anyone who betrays them, or gets in their way. They all have the same tattoo."

"A crucifix? I saw one with thorns and a rose wrapped around it in Mexico and on the dock in Newport." This is all starting to sound very ominous.

Damon nods. "I'm not sure if they'll be able to connect us to what happened in Mexico, but I don't think it'll take them long to put the pieces together."

"Matt is staying at the cottage, what if they figure it out and go after him? What about Jeremy? Oh God, he could be in danger too. Oh my God oh my God oh my God." I need to go back and warn them and call Uncle John.

"I have people stationed in front of the cottage and the Lunch Box. I think you should close for another couple of weeks until this dies down."

I glare at him. "This is never going to die down. If I close the restaurant, it looks too suspicious and we'll loose even more customers. That's not an option."

"Then delegate," he replies. "Give up some responsibilities to your staff, and take care of everything else remotely. You can't go back right now, it's be like walking back into a lion's den covered in blood and wearing a shirt that says "Eat Me"."

That was graphic. "Lions can't read."

Damon's lip quirks. "That won't matter considering you're covered in blood."

I roll my eyes. He's right, I can't go back right now, and I'm willing to delegate, but I need to actively figure a way out of this. "This isn't a solution."

"I never said it was. But I have the resources to keep you safe and right now, with the Crucifiers in Newport and your name all over the news, it's not safe."

"You're creepy," I state.

Damon actually looks offended. "Creepy?"

"You have all these contacts and secret compartments with guns," I shrug. "It's kind of creepy."

"My best friend is a consultant for the special forces. He's a historian and multi linguist," he explains.

I feign surprise. "You have a friend?"

Damon ignores the sarcasm. "Alaric Saltzman. The CIA use his knowledge to help with plans for operations, among other things. When the CIA found out we were friends, they asked him to ask me to help with a few operations. They wanted to use my high profile to gain intel on various people."

I'm actually surprised. "I called you 007 and I had no idea how accurate that might be," I comment. Damon gives me a goofy smile and I'm reminded of what a dork he was growing up. It's kind of adorable. "You helped the US government out of the goodness of your heart?"

Damon gives me a knowing smirk. "We _exchanged_ favors."

"Is that how you got the passports?"

"Not exactly. I'm sort of on the outs with them, but I know too much for them to ever prosecute me." He's not even ashamed. He mentions being on the outs with the CIA like getting into an argument with a neighbor over hedges.

"What did you do?" I ask.

Damon shrugs. "I used some of Alaric's intel to provide a rebel organization in a warring country with guns at a good price."

I put my head in my hands. "You ran guns."

"If it makes you feel any better, I was corroborating with the side that the US government was supporting under the radar."

No, that does not make me feel better. I grab the bottle of wine and take another drink. We sit for a minute, staring at each other, Damon assessing how I've taken this latest bit of news and me wondering why he isn't sitting any closer to me. "So how did you get the passports if you ticked off the US government?"

Damon takes the almost empty bottle of wine and moves it away from me. I think he's worried I'll get too tipsy and fall asleep, because my eyelids have started drooping and gravity is slowly causing me to lay lengthwise on the couch. "Not everyone hates me," he says.

I let out a snort. "That's hard to believe."

He places my feet on his lap and pats my calf. "I still have friends that help me out and I help them out."

"So can't we use your contacts to throw Richard in jail for the rest of his miserable life?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's not that simple. You can be implicated in what happened in Mexico and indicted for transporting drugs illegally across the border with a fake passport."

"That you got!"

"I didn't exactly think we'd end up in the middle of a drug ring," he refutes.

"So what are we going to do? How are we going to get out of this mess?"

Damon sighs. "I've spoken with Alaric, and he said that we need concrete evidence and proof Richard is behind everything. Richard Lockwood is too powerful and too careful. We make one wrong move, and he'll cover his tracks with concrete, making it impossible to catch him. Richard can make bail, he has the best lawyers, so we need to have proof that he's breaking a law that will put him away for years," he looks at me, like he doesn't want to say what he's about to say. "Pretty soon, he's going to be able to tie you with the person who transported drugs across the border, and when he does that, he'll have evidence to send you to jail for a really long time."

"I know," I've already thought about this. He won't hesitate to do it, if it means he can take the restaurant. "We have time. Anyone who saw us is dead. It can't be that easy to connect me with Leia."

Damon looks at me like I'm delusional and maybe I am. "I have to go to a business dinner tonight. I want you to come."

Random. "No," I reply. Last thing I want to do is go to another dinner, plus I'm kind of starting to get drunk.

"A dress will be delivered in an hour," he states. "The dinner isn't until nine. Do you want some coffee?"

"No! I'm not going. The LAST thing I want to do is go to a business dinner," I say, reaching for the bottle of wine he pushed out of the way. Damon stands up and takes it out of my grasp.

"You'll enjoy it, I promise."

"Who's going to be there?" I inquire.

"A couple of executives from Wave Studios."

His studio. Could be interesting and I have nothing else to do. "I want to look at the flash drive you gave me last night first."

Damon nods and pulls me to my feet. He walks me to his office. "Make yourself at home," he places the flash drive into a MacBook and pulls out a black desk chair for me. I sit as he double clicks on the drive. "I'll be right back."

Once he leaves, I start sifting through all of Tyler's emails, not wanting to miss anything. There isn't as much information as I thought, considering he'd have to have downloaded the emails onto his phone in order for me to view them. He was pretty good about deleting threads, because there would be a seemingly innocent email conversation with Evan wanting to get together, and then the thread stops when Tyler should've responded with where to meet. Same goes with text messages.

Damon comes back with coffee. "Did you find anything?" he asks, handing me a mug.

I take a long sip, hoping the caffeine will help me sober up a bit. "Not yet, but I've barely started looking. He must've been told to delete information, because the emails only go back a few days."

"Don't limit yourself to scanning emails and text messages. Tyler's an idiot, he's had to have left something he didn't think anyone would find."

He stands behind me, leaning over my shoulder to look at the screen. "Good point," I click on his photos. We both scream and I impulsively slam the laptop shut. "I did not need to see that." Tyler has several dick pics on his phone. I don't know why you'd need more than one, but apparently, he likes to get pictures from all angles.

"Well," I say, trying to brave opening back up the computer. "I always knew he was a dick."

I scroll past photos of him with some friends at a party and girls in scantily clad clothing. "Stop," Damon orders, pointing to the screen. "There's a screen shot of an email."

I click on it and zoom in. "Look at the subject," I say.

"FW: Sommers Project," Damon replies.

"Evan mentioned that name, but the spelling," I trail off. "Damon, that's my mother's maiden name. The restaurant is in her name."

"It's a forwarded email from Ryan Chatsworth," he says.

"Who's he?"

"He's head of development at Lockwood's company."

I scan the email. "He's discussing plans for a new resort covering fifteen acres of beach front property off the Pacific Coast Highway."

"That's where the Lunch Box is located," Damon says, looking at the projected address.

I turn to him, shaking my head. "We don't own that much property."

"Are you sure?"

I think back. There are no businesses located within a mile of the property, but I always thought that was because it was it's an isolated area, possibly government owned. "I don't know," I say honestly, feeling a little like an idiot. "I never looked at property lines. I just assumed we owned the property where the Box is located, not the surrounding area. I've never seen documentation to make me think otherwise."

"I knew," Damon confesses. "It's why I came to Newport looking to buy the Box. I have a valuable friend that works for Richard, and she let it slip that he was going to buy the Box. I was hoping to beat him to it."

I glare at him. "You knew?"

Damon doesn't even look apologetic. "I thought you knew what you owned."

He has a point. But it still doesn't explain why no one has ever approached us about buying the property before, or why Aunt Jenna didn't tell me. Uncle John is such an asshole, he would've pushed us to sell after she died, if he knew.

"No one knew," I explain. "I think it's why I've never been approached to sell before, and why there aren't more people looking to buy the property. Richard doesn't have any competition if no one knows there's that much land involved, plus he lowballed me on the price he bid by a large sum, so he knew that I had no clue I was sitting on a gold mine."

"Your property is worth…"

"Billions. That much build-able land on the coast of California is unheard of," I finish.

"Do you think you have documentation proving that you own that much land?" Damon inquires.

"I must, otherwise how would Richard know? I'd have to look through my mom's things. I haven't really looked since she died. I must've missed something. I think it was a secret or something, because I would've had to have paid more in property taxes, right?"

Damon shrugs. "The Founding Families own Newport Beach, and your family was one of the most prominent. They could've hidden the information."

"Why do you think Tyler took a screen shot of this email?" I ask.

Damon points to the screen. "Look at this line, _…ground will break on the Sommer's Project on May 23_."

May 23rd. It sits there like lead in my stomach. May twenty-third. _What the fuck? How could he?_ I get out of the chair and bolt toward the front door. "Elena, where are you going?" Damon yells after me.

I make it to the entryway before Damon grabs my wrist, tugging me towards him. I try to wiggle out of his grasp, punch him in the shoulder, kick his shin but he doesn't let go. "Explain to me what's going on in your stubborn head," he says, while I try to break free.

"Let go of me!" I scream. Damon doesn't let go, instead he picks me up and flips me over his shoulder. I continue to hit him upside down, but he easily carries me across the living room, outside, to the pool and then before I know it, I'm being tossed in the air and thrown into the pool. The cool water knocks the air out of me, and I struggle to swim to the surface. When I do, I angrily swim to the shallow end where I can stand, not caring that my dress is completely see through.

"What did you do that for?" I yell, angrier than I've ever been. "We are not together. You have no right to order me around and tell me to go to business dinners. I am not _your's_ to worry about."

Damon does not look amused, he just stares at me while I yell, flailing in the water. "You don't get it!"

Still silent, he pulls up a lounge chair and sits down, like he's watching a fucking water volleyball game. I splash him out of frustration, but he doesn't even bat an eye. "Fuck you!" I scream at the top of my lungs, through tears threatening to break free. "He's planning on breaking ground on my family's property on the fifth anniversary of my parent's death. I want to kill Richard Lockwood. He doesn't deserve to breath the same air as actually people with human feelings."

The floodgates break uncontrollably. "I'm so sick of crying," I yell frustrated. "He's going to keep coming after me until he wins, no matter what deal he made with me. I could publish a video of his son almost raping me and he wouldn't care. This is the man I'm trying to beat."

It's impossible. I'll never win. He has too many resources. I turn away from Damon, trying to hide my tears, when I hear a splash in the water and feel his presence. I turn to him, leaning against his chest as he wraps his arms around me. I look up into his cool blue eyes, searching and run my fingers through his raven strands. "Make me forget," I say in a hushed cracked whisper, through tears. "Please take away my pain."

Damon gazes down at me, easily standing up in the water, towering over me, assessing whether I'm serious or not. I tilt my head, waiting for him to make a move. With one hand he cups the back of my head and pulls me close, hovering over my lips for a fraction of a second and gently opens my mouth with his. As his tongue thrusts in my mouth, he uses his other hand to hike up my thigh and wrap it around him. I melt into him as he drags me to a more shallow end of the pool. I fumble to unbutton his pants, but he breaks away and grabs my wrists, stopping me. I look up, thinking he's playing a game. Maybe he wants me to strip? Play naked Marco Polo. I'm game, but the look in his eyes is filled with regret.

"Elena," he exhales, pain clouds his blue eyes. I turn away and he cups my chin, spinning me towards him. "I can't take away your pain. I can't make you forget, and I wouldn't want to."

The rejection stings. Is this payback for walking out on him in San Diego? "If there's anything I've learned," he continues. "It's that pain is motivation, the longer you allow yourself to feel it, the stronger you'll get."

I turn from him and walk out of the water, angry. I take the hem of my dress that's sticking to my thighs from being in his pool and peel the dress off, leaving me in the lace underwear set that costs more than The Lunch Box's electric bill. I refuse to be called weak and lectured. I turn slightly to him, unclasping the front of my lace bra. "I'll stitch that to a pillow," my words laced with venom. "Pain is the best motivation for revenge." I let the bra fall to the cement and lock eyes with Damon, still standing in the pool. His eyes don't drift from mine to scan what I was willing to hand over to him moments before.

I cock an eyebrow. "I'd better get ready for dinner. Wouldn't want to meet your business associates wet."

 **XXXXXX**

"I may be able to kick Gordon Ramsey's ass in and outside of the kitchen, but I'd never do a show like Master Chef," I argue, dipping a chunk of ciabatta bread in rosemary olive oil.

Glenn Peters, head of the reality television division of Wave Studios, chuckles. "I think you need to talk to your girlfriend, Damon. She's got that combination of looks and brazen wit we look for in a host."

"I'm not his girlfriend," I quickly correct.

Glenn laughs and waves his hand at me as if I've proven his point. Damon doesn't look amused. I haven't spoken to him since I stripped off my dress by his pool. He tried on the way to Craig's in Beverly Hills, but I simply smoothed out the already perfectly steamed Maje red Jacquard sleeveless knit dress, make sure the Hermès scarf is securely tied around my neck to hide the faint bruises from the previous night, and turned away from him towards the window.

"Besides," I continue. "The market is already over saturated with reality cooking shows. I would never want to be the next Gordon Ramsey or the next Anthony Bourdain. Why would I have to be like someone else? Can't you guys think of something original, or do you actually profit off of failed rip-offs, like Emperor of the Kitchen? That lasted, what…half a season before it was canceled?"

Glenn no longer smiles, instead he concentrates on his glass of wine. I peak a glance at Damon, who's smiling into his crystal tumbler of scotch as he takes a drink. "What would you do if you weren't a restauranteur?" Glenn's wife Janice asks, trying to diffuse the tension.

I take a bite of the piece of bread and mull it over. I do know what I'd like to do, but it's never been a realistic option. "Write," I reply.

Janice looks taken aback. "If you're ever looking to free lance, even part time, I'd love to have your perspective in my magazine."

Now it's my turn to look surprised. Janice is young, barely older than myself, with tan skin and golden blonde hair. She comes off as more of a trophy wife than a CEO. "You own a magazine?" She laughs. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off patronizing."

She waves her hand, as if she's had this reaction several times before. "It's technically my mother's, but she stepped down a few years ago so I could take over."

"Janice's mother is Gloria Frei-Bauers," Damon explains.

I turn and look at Janice, as if seeing her for the first time. "You're Janice Bauers? Olympic marathoner?" Serves me right for being a judgmental asshole. "And your mother is Gloria Frei-Bauers, the first woman to run and win the Palm Desert Ultra Marathon?"

Glenn has recovered from my earlier comment and seems entertained by my realization that his wife comes from a lineage of badass runners. Janice just shrugs. "She started Runner's Life when I was eight and started running competitively. She felt like there needed to be a magazine for runners, by runners. Something that had more of a community vibe, than a magazine full of advertisements for the best running shoes," she pauses to take a sip of wine. "Damon told me you're a runner."

I shake my head. "I'm not you," I reply. "I just try to get in a daily run to keep me sane, nothing more."

"You ran the Boston Marathon twice," Damon corrects. "And qualified both times with an under three hour marathon. You're not just a runner, you're a talented runner."

How did he know that? I glare at him before I turn to Janice. "You won the Paris Marathon a few years ago after rolling your ankle at mile ten. How were you able to push past that and not only finish, but win?" It feels like an interview question, but I can't help it. To me, she's more of a celebrity than an Oscar winner.

She tilts her head to the side, recalling the memory. "I knew I'd hate myself if I didn't finish, so I compartmentalized the pain and tried to finish as fast as I could and thought only of going to this little bistro with the absolute best steak frites in Paris," she smiles. "When I was in the aid station getting my ankle looked at, I made Glenn get me a pain au chocolate from a bakery around the corner."

"I believe your first words to me when you finished were, _Get me a fucking croissant!_ I had to pay the reporter who overheard ten grande just to not publish what you shouted, _"_ Glenn adds, with a barking laugh.

Damon and I both join in laughing. Conversation around the table is easy. Damon and Glenn talk about different avenues they want to take the reality division of his production company, while Janice asks me about running The Lunch Box with my family. I tell her about the time my mother lost the chili cook-off at the Newport Food and Wine Festival and punched the winner for making a pass at Aunt Jenna after he won. I'm in such a good mood by the end of the meal that I actually share a chocolate soufflé with Damon for dessert. I still haven't talked to him, but we knocked spoons fighting over the last bite.

"Promise me you'll think about it," Janice says as we wait by the valet. "I think your perspective could really add something special to the magazine."

I shake my head. "I really wish I could even think about it, but I'm busy with the restaurant."

"Well," she says, a little disappointed. "You have my number. When things die down for you, we'll have to go to brunch."

I nod and give her a hug. "It was lovely meeting you."

"Likewise," she replies.

Felix opens the door for me as Damon finishes talking to Glenn. I slide into the black BMW sedan and thank him. I turn away from the door, and look outside at people walking across Melrose to their car or to go to another bar. Damon climbs into the car and even though I'm turned away from him, I can feel him looking at me. It's unnerving. "You're not mad at me," he states, trying to goad me into conversation.

I'm not falling for it. "Felix," I say. "Can you turn on some music? The Beatles? Anything that'll drown out annoying noises would be great."

"Don't bother, Felix," Damon orders. "I'd prefer silence over The Beatles."

I'm shocked. Everyone likes The Beatles. I turn and almost say something, but decide against it, resulting in me staring at Damon with my mouth gaping open and closing like a fish. He grins, because he got me to look at him. I turn back around, angry because I fell for it. The car ride home remains silent. I don't blame Felix, Damon _is_ the one that pays him.

When we're alone again in the penthouse, Damon tries to talk to me as I walk towards his bedroom to change. "You aren't mad at me. You knew I was right," he says as I untie the scarf, avoiding his eyes.

I take off the black Stuart Weitzman pumps and walk into his closet. I try to shut the door and shut him out. Willing to sleep in there, it's big enough, but Damon blocks the doorway. "I wasn't going to take advantage of your pain and sleep with you, no matter how badly I wanted to," he says.

I glance at him. "You're manipulative," I reply, finally deciding to say something. "How do I know if you're telling the truth and trying to back peddle your way out of this?"

He takes off his jacket and hangs it up and picks the scarf I dropped on the floor and hangs it up on a special scarf hanger next to the other clothes he bought me. "When have I manipulated you?" he asks.

He's got to be joking. "Oh, I don't know," I reply lamely. "Maybe when you started following me and attempted to seduce me into selling you the restaurant?"

Damon audibly sighs. "When are you going to let that go? You hold onto anger so you can push people away."

I scoff. "I do not! You keep secrets! Lots of them. I feel like every day I find out some new side to you. One day you're a billionaire businessman, the next you're some government operative with very realistic fake passports, and the next, you're a war profiteer. One day, you're trying every which way to get into my pants and the next, you're some chivalrous knight, trying to preserve my virtue. Who is the real Damon Salvatore? Does he have feelings?"

I hit a nerve. Damon's eyes darken as he walks towards me. "You know me, Elena Gilbert," he says, walking even closer to me. "You may not know every facet of my life, but you _know_ me. You want me to take advantage of you? Is that it?"

I step towards him. "It's not taking advantage if I'm willingly giving it away," I reply.

"You were trying to use me as a distraction. Who's manipulating whom?" he tilts my chin up so I'm looking directly into his hooded eyes.

"I didn't manipulate you." Okay, maybe I did. I frown. "Do guys not like it when girls ask for sex?"

Damon's lip quirks. He leans down and kisses me lightly. I deepen his kiss, wrapping my hands around his neck and pulling him closer. He melds his mouth to mine, kissing me hungrily, running his hands down my back, holding me he guides me out of the closet, almost tripping over my heals still lying on the floor on the way out, trying to blindly find the closest flat surface as we hungrily kiss, our senses completely wrapped up in each other.

He presses me up against the floor to ceiling windows. "This window isn't going to break, is it?" I ask as Damon does magical things that involve his mouth on my neck.

He lifts his head and takes a step back. The absence of his warm skin on mine feels wrong and foreign. "I'd never put you in danger," he says. I've hit another nerve.

I run a hand through my tangled hair, take a small step towards him and splay my hands on his chest. I scrape my nails down the length of his torso before I pull out the hem of his black dress shirt from his slacks. "Really?" I ask, casually unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up. "You mean you weren't putting me in danger when you drove me down to Mexico with a fake passport?"

I slowly peel his shirt off, while Damon hungrily glares at me. "Or what about stalking me on my runs?"

I reach for his belt buckle, but Damon grabs my wrists. Once again, I stand before him on the precipice of getting rejected. For all I know, he now knows just how much the land I own is worth and is manipulating me to sell it to him. My head feels full, dying for release. I have an overwhelming desire to run, and there's an annoying part of my brain that thinks Damon will let me. If I were being completely honest, I would admit that I don't want him to want me to run.

Hands firmly clasped around my wrists he leans down and whispers into my ear. "Do you trust me?" He echoes from so many times before. I nod, unable to speak. "Say it," he demands.

His commanding words cause me to momentarily loose speech, so Damon's lips brush mine before he deepens the kiss, my body magnetically closing the cavernous gap between us. He breaks away, still holding my wrists. "Say it."

I look up into his eyes and curiously search them as if looking into the silver blue hues for the first time. His brows knot, not out of insecurity, but wonder. Wondering what's going through my head, maybe. "I trust you," I finally say, because I do.

He nods and lets go of my wrists. They fall to my side. "Lift up your arms," he orders. I comply out of curiosity. He swiftly takes the hem of my red knit dress and pulls it off of me, leaving me in a red lace bra and boy shorts. He steps back and analyzes me. "Beautiful," he whispers. "You're still hurt."

His hands brush the bruises that dot my ribs, arms, neck and thighs. Damon kneels before me and presses his lips to each bruise as if his lips could magically heal and when he places a kiss at the apex of my thigh, I think he could. My hands run through his hair for balance, and I accidentally grip it harder than intended when he reaches into my panties and runs his index finger along my seam. I gasp.

"Not yet," he says to himself. _Not yet, what!_ I want to cry, but he's now scooped me up in his arms and carries me to the bed. He positions me lengthwise on the bed, straddles my waist, places a soft kiss to my lips and says, "I'll be right back. Don't move."

This is absolutely ridiculous. I really just want a good fuck that puts me into a Sleeping-Beauty-like sleep but Damon seems to want to take his precious time. Controlling asshole. I wonder if he has a guest room. Maybe I should just sleep somewhere else and slip out early in the morning. I need to make sure Matt and the cottage are okay and I really have to find a place to live.

I sit up and hop off the large bed, trying not to think of the number of women who've been in this bed, when Damon emerges from the closet holding the scarf I was wearing earlier. He strides towards me, shirtless and I can't help but gaze down toward his happy little trail that leads to all things nefarious. "You moved."

"What took you so long?" Surely getting my scarf from the closet wouldn't take that long. "You put my heals back and hung up my dress, didn't you?" Wait. What does he need my scarf for?

Damon doesn't give me a chance to think, he cups the back of my neck and kisses me with such force, I have no choice but to walk backwards as he leans into me towards the bed. I am kiss drunk as he once again rearranges me on the bed. "Give me your hands," he says, straddling my waist, trapping me.

I lazily give him my wrists. He takes the black Hermès and wraps it intricately around both wrists in a figure eight. "You've done this before," I cock an eyebrow. "Several times before."

"I'm not about to lie to you," he replies.

"Hasn't stopped you before," I retort.

Damon ignores my dig and lifting my now tied together wrists above my head, ties them to the iron headboard above my head. "Move your wrists," he orders.

I wiggle them. "Are you comfortable?" He asks, checking the bindings.

"I'm curious."

"Answer the question, smart ass," he replies, looking into my eyes for any level of discomfort.

"I'm fine," I reply softly. What exactly does he have in mind? I've never been with someone who was into this sort of thing. Does Damon have some sort of secret sex Bat-Cave? I wouldn't be opposed to visiting, but there's no way in hell I'll ever call him _sir_ or _master_. I'd castrate him for suggesting such a thing.

"Why the bondage?" I ask.

"You were going to leave and I didn't feel like chasing after you and throwing you in the pool again."

My eyes narrow. My earlier theory of mind reading capabilities seems proven. "How did you…"

"You had that fight or flight look in your eyes," he finishes. "I'm starting to know that look very well."

"Are you saying that I can't fight?" I ask, anger bubbling up in me. I struggle from the bindings, wanting off this bed all of a sudden.

Damon leans over and wraps his large hands around my wrists, and soothingly runs his hands up and down my arms, instantaneously calming me down. Warmth pools in every orifice. I sigh contentedly. "I wasn't saying that you can't physically fight," he says serenely. "I'm talking about fighting for us."

Oh. "You're so sure that there is an _us_. How do you know that we won't end up Thelma and Louise-ing it and at the bottom of a ravine by the time this is all over?" I ask, fear laced with every word. We are doomed. There is no happy ending for us, so what's the point?

"Oh, angel of mine," he says, gently running his fingers from my forehead to my chin, tilting me up so I can see him better. "There has never been a doubt in my mind that we were meant to grow old together. If I have to fight for both of us, then I will."

My stomach drops. Grow old together? Jesus Christ, I cannot think beyond tonight and he's already planning our retirement. I should've gone back to Newport. Damon runs his thumb along the bottom of my lip. "You're not there yet, but you will be," he says, kissing me.

My brain immediately comes up with the perfect escape route to Newport, but every other cell in my body screams for me to stay as Damon expertly moves from sucking on my lower lip leaving trails of kisses down my neck to my collarbone. I squirm beneath his weight, dying for release as he takes his time turning me to scalding liquid. His right hand is cupping my breast beneath the lace bra and massaging my nipple in soothing little circles. A small moan escapes but my frustration to touch him and bring him closer to me is evident in my inability to stay still. I try wrapping my leg around his body, but Damon annoyingly wags his finger and gets up to leave.

"No," I cry. "I'm sorry, come back." I know how desperate I sound, but being wrapped in Damon feels damn good and I'm not willing to give it up just yet.

He leaves again, but comes back with a pair of silver sheers, to either kill me or cut my bindings loose. I'm hoping for option two. Still in his slacks from dinner, he kneels on the bed. "We ran into a bit of a problem," he says, pressing the cold sheers at my breast bone. I gasp. "Your bra is still on but I don't want to undo the bindings in order to take it off." I pout, because I still won't be able to touch him.

He meticulously cuts off the beautiful lace bra, making sure not to nip me as I squirm under the cold of the steel, and gets up to throw it away, because Damon Salvatore would not simply toss the bra off the side of the bed. He walks back, and I stare at him. His chiseled jaw, cold blue eyes, velvet pink lips, raven hair that's a little messy, and his long torso with accompanying magical V, and his pants, still belted. I frown. "Nope," I say before he can approach me.

He eyes me, amused. "What?"

"I'm laying here, bound and almost naked…"

"I can remedy the almost naked part," he interrupts.

"No way," I shout. "This," I use my head to motion to my body. "Isn't happening until you get naked. It's the least you can do. PANTS. OFF."

Damon flashes a sexy smirk that I'm sure has kept his bed anything but empty for years. "Any other requests?"

I think about it for a minute. I want to be able to touch him, but he shakes his head in disapproval. "Not that." Yup, he can read my mind.

He unbuckles his pants, lets them drop to his black boxer briefs and strides over to me.

"No!" I say, shifting away from him as he climbs on top of me, trying to kiss my lips. "Drop everything."

Damon's head falls as he laughs into the crook of my neck. His short bursts of breath tickle the sensitive skin on my neck, causing me to giggle. "This is so not sexy," I laugh.

"This isn't what I had in mind," he replies.

I look out the window, the full moon glowing in the background. "Do you think that we can only get sex right when we're arguing or trying to get information out of each other?"

I'm thinking out loud, I don't actually expect him to answer. I hear his nightstand drawer open and close, and feel the cold steel on my hands as he releases me from my bindings with one snip. "Let's try this again," he says, tossing the scraps of silk off the bed.

I dramatically wave my hands free as if they'd been bound for days and wrap my arms around him. He leans into the embrace and I feel him smile contentedly on my shoulder, his shadow of a beard scraping against my clavicle in the most wonderful way. He kisses my neck as his hand lazily palms my breast, circling his thumb around my pert nipples. My breathing begins to shallow as my need begins to build, twisting like a coiled wire.

His mouth replaces his thumb as he sucks on my breast. My back arches as he moves to the other breast, my hips grinding into his pelvis. "Oh, God," I breath.

"I've been wanting to do that all day," he says, moving from my chest and kissing me deeply on the lips.

"You were thinking about my breasts while talking spreadsheets with Glenn at dinner?" I ask.

"Since you were standing on the balcony wearing only my shirt," he replies. "Since you were wearing that sheer gown last night. I wanted to wrap you up in my suit jacket and keep you away from prying eyes."

His hand dips into my panties and rubs my clit in melodic circles. "Fuck," I gasp, heat radiating throughout my body.

"Since you saved me in Mexico," he adds. I don't think we're talking about my breasts anymore.

He slowly pulls off my panties and pulls off his briefs, his cock springing free. He leans back in for a slow kiss, thrusting his tongue in my mouth and positioning himself on top of me. He gradually pulls away from my kiss. "Since you curled up in my arms on the side of the highway."

Damon spreads my legs and positions himself at my entrance. My arms still wrapped around his back, he thrusts in me, knocking the air from my lungs, my legs automatically wrap around him, in an attempt to pull him closer, deeper. I cry out and claw his back as he slowly withdraws and then slams back into me.

Our bodies slick with sweat, he finds my lips and presses his mouth to mine as we sloppily kiss. Pleasure blurs my vision as I feel the pressure building for release. Damon moves his hand to my clit and lightly adds pressure to it. I come like a fucking dam bursting, screaming.

Damon continues to thrust in me and slowly massages my clit, not caring that I just had a life altering orgasm. I feel the pressure build again as he leaves me to flip me over. "Can you get on your knees?" he asks. I don't hesitate and move to my knees.

Damon sweeps my hair off of my neck to one side and kisses beneath my ear. "Since I first met you, I've been dreaming about the girl with the chocolate eyes and the smile that made me want to know everything about her," he whispers, dragging his hands down my back to my waist.

Damon grabs my ass and thrusts into me. I fist the sheets beneath me, trying not to collapse. Seeing me struggle, he holds me up by the waist and waits for me to gain my equilibrium before he fills me again. I circle my hips as he moves in and out rhythmically, massaging my waist with his hands, sending me spiraling into nirvana again. Seconds later, I hear him growl as he releases into me and I collapse. He blankets me, resting his head in the crook of my neck, smelling my hair. Spent.

I hum contentedly as he kisses my cheek sweetly and withdraws. He picks me up underneath my legs like I weigh nothing and carries me to the bathroom. "Don't throw me in the pool again." I whisper. Tired.

"I can't make that promise," he replies. "Angel of mine."


End file.
